A Man Chipped and Jagged
by Okadiah
Summary: Set shortly after Zero Hour. The progression Kallus takes from being Agent Kallus of the Empire, to Captain Kallus of the Rebel Alliance. Each chapter will focus on Kallus and a member of the crew as they help him become something new. Originally posted as a one-shot titled Chipped and Jagged.
1. Chipped and Jagged

**A/N:** There are oodles of spoilers in this from the season three finale. Just a warning if you haven't seen it yet.

Anyway, here's a catharsis piece just for Kallus. I love this f*cker. So glad he made it through the finale and is now safe and sound with the crew. Anyway, enjoy! I'd love to hear what you thought.

* * *

 **Chipped and Jagged**

Kallus's heart pounded in his chest again as he mentally relived his narrow escape from the Empire, and again he let out a tight breath to calm himself. He crossed his arms more tightly against his chest as if to ward off the memories, but they came in spite of his actions.

Kallus had to admit. Despite his bravado, his training, and all his plans, he had not expected to survive the battle this time.

Thrawn had … outwitted him. He wasn't sure how or when it had happened – likely by some miscalculation on his part during the Bridger-Lyste fiasco, when the Grand Admiral had originally tried to track him down. But when Kallus had watched his callsign symbol bleed red, when he'd seen that Chiss round the corner of Bridger's old home with that smug, superior look on his aloof face … well, Kallus wasn't as much the idealist as the Phoenix Squadron often proved themselves to be. Idealist enough, perhaps, to hope he might right the mistakes of his past. But against Thrawn with nowhere to hide and no other unfortunate soul to plant the blame on?

Kallus might have been a fool, but he wasn't stupid.

He'd been certain of his death the moment he'd been captured, and as he'd been beaten and tortured – partly for information, and partly as vindictive retaliation on the Empire's part – he'd come to terms with it. When he'd taken on the codename Fulcrum, he'd been fully aware what the punishment for treason against the Empire was. It wouldn't be pretty, and would undoubtedly be painful, but he'd accepted the reality of his impending death.

Then three mistakes had durned the certainty of his death into the possibility of life, and Thrawn himself had made the first one.

The Grand Admiral had left both Kallus and the ship for the glory of personally commanding the ground assault, leaving Governor Pryce in command. That was when Kallus thought he _might_ have a chance at either finding a way to help the rebels on Atollon, or figuring a way out of his own situation.

To be sure, watching the battle unfold from his … privileged vantage above had been an uncomfortable experience. As Fulcrum, much of the risk had been his own. Even if Thrawn had outed him as a spy before now, only he would have suffered for it. But with the battle raging below, he knew that he was partially responsible since he'd underestimated the Grand Admiral and had unintentionally led the Empire here. He was responsible for each ship destroyed, fighter downed, and life lost. Each report of devastation and advancement by Imperial ground forces had made his heart beat hollow, and shame build in his soul.

But then Bridger had arrived with Sabine Wren and a clutch of Mandalorians, and in true fashion began turning the tides. That, coupled with the chaotic reports Pryce was receiving from the ground forces, made that hollow feeling replace itself with satirical amusement. It was happening _again_. They were pulling it off _again_.

He didn't know if he could believe it or not, but he knew from experience where to place his credits. And based off what he could assume was their plan, if he could work quickly enough he might have an opportunity to not only save himself, but escape the Empire at the same time.

Pressing Pryce had been easy. When stressed, her first thought was always to remove the nearest stressor. He had stressed her blatantly, and she'd reacted just as he'd expected. That had been the second mistake made. The third had been his guards' stupidity in turning their backs on him when they'd entered the lift. When those doors had closed, his escape had been assured and despite everything that had happened, he'd taken what pleasure he could in his liberation.

After that, all that had been left was to make it out and to do what the rebels did best: hope. He'd sent his coordinates from the escape pod he'd commandeered and waited. Then, like its namesake, the _Ghost_ had manifested from amidst the chaos and swept him up into safety like a miracle.

Then they'd left. And despite his initial doubt, he had survived.

Kallus clenched his fingers around his biceps and forced himself to focus on the now, and not another round of memories. It was over and he'd survived. Though he was safe, it was hard to believe it. He was with the rebels now, and not the Empire. Kanan and the others had saved him.

He'd rebelled.

Tentative quiet thrummed around him, and from under Kallus's pale lashes he caught glimpses of the other rebels that had survived Atollon. They were comforting each other, offering assistance and consolation now that the battle was over.

But Kallus was too sharp not to notice the … breadth of space he was being afforded in his corner, nor the sly looks. Though these rebels had been informed of his role in the rebellion and the risks he'd taken to help them, he had caught more than a few hateful glances and suspicious stares. Kanan and his crew might have saved him, perhaps even accepted him, but standing in the middle of a collection of rebels he did not know, dressed as an Imperial after everything they'd just experienced … after everything _he_ _'d_ experienced ….

His confidence wasn't shaken often, but now he felt more vulnerable and alone than he ever had with the Empire.

Kallus endeavored to keep his eyes averted though he knew he needn't have bothered. No one was willing to meet his gaze directly even if he had decided to challenge them, and the only one who had so far had been blind, and that in itself was questionable. His mind struggled to figure out what his next move would be, _if_ there was a next move. He felt as if he were moments away from being thrown in a brig.

Heavy footsteps and the sight of familiar purple skin in his peripheral vision caused Kallus to lift his eyes, and he found himself meeting Garazeb Orrelios's green gaze. He'd expected the hard, gruff look that always sat on the Lasat's weathered face, and he wasn't surprised to see warrior's fatigue cling to the bottom of his eyes. What made Kallus stare, however, was the presence of something he hadn't properly experienced since they'd last seen each other on the icy moon of Bahryn.

Camaraderie.

"Hey," Zeb said before jerking his head to the side in a clear motion to follow. "Come on."

He didn't even spare a thought at trailing Zeb past the rebel survivors, then past the galley where Hera and Sabine sat in close conversation with several other Mandalorians. Though the women of the _Ghost_ crew showed no hate in their eyes as he passed by, Sabine's Mandalorians made no effort to hide theirs.

The weight of their eyes was heavy as Kallus struggled to keep his shaken composure blank and even. Perhaps he'd made a mistake when he'd asked the _Ghost_ crew to take him in.

"I'd ignore them," Zeb muttered quietly once they'd moved past and into a less occupied area of the ship. "I don't know if you've handled many Mandalorians, but they look that way at everyone until they get to know you. Probably shouldn't take it personally."

"Yes. I'm sure," Kallus responded blandly. "What do you want?"

"Believe it or not, to help you." They turned the corner, and as they did Zeb lifted a small bundle he'd been holding in his hand. "Here. We had some spare clothes laying around, and they might be close to your size. Now that you're one of us, it's probably a good idea that you start looking like one of us. You keep wearing that getup, and you're going to have a harder time here than I think you want."

Wordlessly Kallus took the bundle and inspected the clothing. Simple. Usable. Worn and they didn't quite match. There was even a strange, rust colored stain along one of the legs of the pants. His first instinct was to reject them for their lack of order. To crave familiar black. How could he be expected to wear something so … unpresentable?

But if he wanted presentable, if he wanted familiar order, all he'd have to do was continue to wear his uniform. And right now, here on this ship traveling with rebels, it was the last thing he wanted. Kallus accepted the clothes without grievance. At this point he'd wear a sackcloth bag and be grudgingly grateful.

"Fresher's there," Zeb said with a nod, indicating a door. "Get cleaned up. Changed. I'll be back if you need anything."

Though a lifetime of Imperial conditioning made him suspicious, caused him to search the Lasat's face for a lie he half expected to find, after a slightly tense moment he nodded. Turning away, he entered what he hoped actually was a refresher, and not an improvised cell.

It was, thankfully, a refresher, and it was also empty. Though he would never admit it out loud, he was relieved. Relieved it wasn't a cell and his trust hadn't been betrayed. But mostly, he was relieved to be out of everyone's line of sight, holed away for a moment where no one could see him. Where, if he wanted to, he could almost pretend that the day didn't happen. That he hadn't blown cover. That Thrawn hadn't found out. That he hadn't inadvertently lead the Chiss to Atollon.

His face throbbed, and a look in the mirror made him cringe as it forced him to face reality, even here alone. It had all happened.

He'd _rebelled_. And now the Empire knew it.

Kallus drew closer to the mirror over the sink and stared at himself, repeating the phrase in the quiet of his mind. He'd _rebelled_. And now the Empire _knew it._

The icy edge of fear rose from within his gut, and he'd expected that. It always appeared first thing every time he woke up and remembered what he'd chosen to do. But the familiar line of fear hadn't been the only emotion to rise from his thoughts.

The heady rush of relief flooded his body, and it was terrifying as it was overwhelming.

He'd _rebelled_. And now the Empire knew it. The thought now struck him like a hammer. There was no more hiding now. No more walking on eggshells and pretending to be what the Empire thought he should be, while he concealed who he needed to be. No risking revealing himself with every word he spoke or any stray expressions. It was over now.

His time as an Imperial … it was over.

Setting the clothes down on a small, empty shelf bolted into the wall, he pulled his eyes away from the mirror and set to work divesting himself of his Imperial uniform. Kallus stripped the armor off with careful meticulousness, and with each piece removed, the reality of what had happened over Atollon … it sank in deeper. With each piece lifted, he felt lighter.

He was away. Away from the Empire. Away from the control and false peace he'd spent so long believing in. Away from the lies and the murder and the suffering impressed upon so many by the dark monster consuming the galaxy.

He was away. And he was free.

A tiny smile edged his lips. Kallus hadn't expected to smile, and the impulse to force it under through sheer force of habit almost banished it before he even realized it was there. Smiling wasn't the Empire's way. It wasn't proper behavior. But he wasn't with the Empire anymore. He could smile if he wanted to, and he found that here, alone and shedding the skin of his former life as he was, he wanted to smile even a little.

It felt strange on his lips, a little unnatural, but he kept it despite how foolish he felt. Just because he could.

In a manner that left him almost stumbling, he raced to strip out of what was left of his Imperial uniform. He kicked it all away to a corner, a collection of darkness sitting on its own away from him; a separate entity he wanted nothing to do with. It looked like sludge to him now. Sludge he'd willingly worn for years.

Stepping into the sonic, he eagerly let himself be cleaned. As the dirt and sweat and blood fell away, he imagined it was shaking off more than just the filth on his skin, but the taint in his soul as well. When he stepped out he didn't feel as if he was necessarily a new man, but he felt further distanced from the Empire and the idea of what he'd been. That was more than enough for now.

He took his time dressing, mostly because his body was starting to shout its aches and pains at him. Bruises mottled his skin, and he knew he was lucky that was the extent of his damage. If Thrawn's beating and torture had been any worse, if Kallus's body wasn't already prepared for such treatment, he'd probably have several broken ribs and more besides. As stoic as the Grand Admiral was, Kallus had sensed a certain … release the Chiss took in the brawl. Like a little of his control and cruelty could slip, revealing a peek at what was beneath the blue monster's mask.

It might have been the most honest moment Kallus had ever experienced with the man.

With a slight grimace, he dragged a thick blue sweater over his head and let it fall with a whisper against his abused flesh. It was soft, softer than he'd experienced in clothing in a long time. It felt … indulgent. Gentle, when his flesh was used to less forgiving fabrics made for durability and strength and little thought for comfort.

It felt wrong. Like a blaster bolt would sink into him any moment, now that he was unprotected by the Empire. It made him feel defenseless.

But standing as he was now in these new, strange clothes that a _Lasat_ of all beings had given him, aboard a ship piloted by a Twi'lek and led by a blind Jedi … he might be vulnerable, but maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd felt earlier.

With practiced efficiency, Kallus ran his hands through his hair to slick it back, and though most of it fell back exactly as it should, a lock of his strawberry-blond was being stubborn. It was the one that had fallen free after Thrawn had beaten him, and now it refused to let itself be tamed no matter how many times he pushed it back.

Kallus stared at it in the mirror and that stray lock of hair as it hung before his eye as if committing its own form of rebellion from the slicked back collective of the rest.

Eyeing it, his brown eyes refocused on the rest his reflection, observing it as a greater whole. For more years of his life than he'd likely ever tell anyone here on this ship, he'd been perfect. Flawless. Proud of the sharp tool he'd become in the name of the Empire.

As Kallus studied the stray bangs hanging over his eye, he saw that perfect blade he's spent so long creating was now chipped. Jagged from misuse and harsh treatment, never to be the same again. Slowly he lowered his hand and took in this new vision of himself. It wasn't pretty. His ordeal reflected back at him in the mirror; black eye and split lip. Scratches across his face. Bruises. But there was something there now, something in his eyes which he knew had been slowly growing since Bahryn. Light. Life.

Dare he say it? Hope.

Unable to stop himself, he smirked at the man he saw because maybe the face he saw now was something of the real him, chipped and jagged. Kallus couldn't help but feel a shadow of shame, all the same. Though he'd openly committed treason against the Empire, it was hard to let go of its indoctrination overnight. He'd been something the Empire had been proud of. And he'd given it up for something … something different. The lingering Imperial in him that questioned his decision every day was ashamed of his choice, of this change.

But he, Kallus, he _was_ proud.

The man he saw now was the man he had _chosen_ to be. Not the man he'd been manipulated and influenced into becoming. Kallus didn't know if this man was still Fulcrum, or a special agent, or simply nothing anymore, but looking at this man he knew it didn't matter. He wasn't Agent. He wasn't a series of numbers and letters indicating his status as property of the Empire.

He was Kallus. And he was a rebel.

Kallus shook his head at himself, even as his smirk held a moment longer. That rebellious stray lock of hair stroked against his cheek with the motion. He'd have to get used to that. He wanted to get used to it.

Pushing away from the sink, he gathered up his old uniform with every intention of sending it out the airlock at his earliest convenience before straightening up. Pulling his shoulders back. Lifting his chin. Taking back what was left of his confidence and pride so he could rebuild it into something better. Something new. Exiting the refresher, he saw that Zeb was waiting with his arms crossed across the way.

"Well?" Kallus asked. "Do I look like a rebel now?"

"You look beat up, and your Imperial bearing is showing through," Zeb replied after a long, hard look, and Kallus took a breath slowly through his nose and reminded his battered ego that this … this would take time. Changing his clothing and the way he looked, it wouldn't stop anyone else from seeing the Imperial he had been. If he wanted them to see that he wasn't that man anymore, he'd have to prove it to them. Maybe constantly, and at every chance he could get despite having already risked everything for them.

But Kallus found he was willing. This new man he was becoming, he was willing.

Kallus rolled his shoulders and forced them to relax, softening his posture into something he hoped looked more natural and forthcoming. Not as if he were about to call down the Imperial fleet.

"I'll … work on that," Kallus finally said, relieved that the Lasat was answering him honestly, even if he was disappointed by the truth. He turned to move past Zeb in search of a quiet corner to shut his eyes. Sleep would help. When he next woke up, he'd work on this new man he was becoming. For now … it was best not to push too hard and expect too much. They'd all had a long day.

"You don't look as … clean, though."

Kallus stopped and caught Zeb's green eyes, confused, and the Lasat looked away as he shrugged his shoulders. Kallus lifted a brow.

"Not as … clean?" The refresher had worked as well as any other did. Did these rebels have hygiene standards that not even the Empire could match? That was hard to believe, given their previous entanglements, but life as a rebel was new to him. How was he to know?

"Not perfect, I mean," Zeb elaborated as he finally looked back at him. "You still move like them, stand like them, but it's not like it used to be. You look rougher now. Like you could be picked out of a lineup of Imperials."

Kallus continued to stare at the Lasat, and Zeb rolled his eyes and gave a great, heavy sigh.

"What I mean is, you're starting to look like us in a way you can't fake or hide anymore. In the eyes. And here," Zeb thumped his chest lightly. "You may not look much like a rebel right now, but you are one where it matters."

Kallus let the Lasat's words sit for a while before a slow smirk pulled at one corner of his lips.

"Thanks for the clarification. If you could call it that."

Zeb's eyes narrowed as he pushed off the wall and began to stalk past him.

"Maybe it would have been better to leave you at Atollon," the Lasat grumbled in retaliation, but Kallus noticed it lacked its usual bite. "Come on. You look like you're about to drop dead on your feet. We've got spare cots. I'm sure you can find some space to catch some rest."

The very thought of sleep made Kallus ache, his body ready for the downtime to recover and his mind more so. But before he'd allow the thought to take root into something that would translate into physical action, he found he now needed to do one thing first.

"Before that," Kallus said. "Where's the nearest airlock?" Zeb's brow furrowed in response and it seemed fair play that he elaborate this time. He lifted his former Imperial uniform. "I don't think anyone will have a problem with me getting rid of these. They don't exactly fit anymore."

Zeb smirked before gesturing with a clawed hand to follow after.

"No. I guess they don't."

This time, he had to admit he was both pleased and relieved to hear the Lasat's agreement. And with a tiny smile he could hide away quickly if Zeb happened to look back, Kallus the rebel followed his unlikely friend.


	2. Scrutinized and Adrift

**A/N:** So, seems I wasn't quite done with this story after all. Updates to this one might be a bit sporadic since it's kind of a side project after Blackbird. I usually give a warning for when I'm going to post on my tumblr (it's the same as my pen name), so be sure to check there.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Scrutinized and Adrift**

Kallus stepped out from what had been his debriefing room feeling mentally drained for the fifth day in a row. But for all the fatigue, there was some grateful relief. His debriefing was finally over.

Now all that remained was to wait for the Alliance to decide what they would do with him.

Truthfully, he'd known debriefing with the Rebel Alliance would be lengthy. After all, he'd been a respected and trusted Imperial agent for most of his adult life, entrusted with many secrets and a great deal of intelligence the rebels could use to their advantage, from now on. But what he hadn't expected was how … comprehensive the debriefing had been.

Coming from the Empire as he had, he'd endured many — sometimes painful — debriefings in his time. What it seemed he'd taken for granted was the ultimate ease of the system. With an Imperial debriefing, he knew the protocol and could prepare for almost anything they could demand of him. The Imperial Machine wasn't known for its creativity or imagination, so coming up with the correct answers was a simple enough affair.

Debriefing with the rebels, however, had been brutal to say the least. Though he'd given his information willingly and with little hesitation, the woman who'd debriefed him had insisted on a certain thoroughness. She had questioned him with hard, distrustful eyes, and dug into every aspect of his involvement with the Empire – which meant everything. Every instant of his personal history had been excavated and turned over for lies and traps. She'd been ruthless, gouging into areas of his life that she nor the rebellion had any right to ask him for. Questions about his childhood, his family, his friends, his teammates, and his lovers.

In a detached way, he did understand. This might have gone differently if he'd been any other Imperial defector. A lowly stormtrooper. A scientist. A pilot. But he wasn't any of those. He'd been a high ranking ISB agent and, on top of that, he'd become a double agent. It begged the question that if he could turn on the Empire, what was the possibility he might turn on the Alliance? That he'd done everything up to now in an attempt to infiltrate them, and summon the Empire to bring them to their knees before they could even properly stand. Their cautious and resolute attitude about this was justified.

Even if it was invasive, and bordered on unethical.

But Kallus endured the treatment because he _had_ rebelled. With the looming threat of what the Empire would do if they happened to recapture him – with every intention of ensuring he died a slow and painful death, he was sure – that alone provided every incentive he needed to convince the rebels he was telling the truth. That he was useful and needed, and that he _was_ here to help them do the right thing, if he could. Kallus wanted that most of all.

So in the attempt to convince them, he'd been forward and answered every question he could to the best of his ability. Not that it had been easy.

His debriefer, Moreena Sufell, had taken a certain pleasure in every discomfort she'd been able to pull out of him. After days of pointed and barbed questioning, he hoped his and Sufell's paths never crossed again. Especially after the satisfied and cruel look she'd given him when he'd asked what would happen next.

"Hey, you done for the day?"

Years of ingrained training ensured Kallus's fatigue was hidden in an instant, but when he saw who'd called him he slowly let himself relax. He nodded, then caught himself as he eyed the green half-mask that covered Kanan's eyes.

"Yes. Thankfully, it appears that I'm done with the debriefing completely."

"That's good news," Kanan told him as he approached. "You still required to have an escort?"

Kallus frowned as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Corporals Leto and Phrite stand a little taller. His personal guards practically preened before the blind Jedi.

"Until the Alliance comes to a decision as to what they plan on doing with me … yes."

"I see," Kanan said before his lips twisted. "I know. Funny, coming from me."

Kallus kept his face straight, though it hardly mattered if he did. "I didn't say anything."

Kanan chuckled. "I'm on my way to the mess. Want to come along?"

"I don't see why not," he replied, hiding his eagerness at the idea of going anywhere that wasn't the room he'd been in for the last five days, or the tiny quarters he'd been given to wait out the remainder of the time he wasn't debriefing. As he stepped next to the Jedi, the movement caused his rebellious lock of hair to shift and sway with his motions. He still wasn't used to it, but it was a personal symbol for him. Something he could look at and be reminded of his intentions.

Behind them, Leto and Phrite followed with more distance than usual. Kallus supposed that with a Jedi next to him, there was very little he could do if he were to attempt anything foolish, though the absurdity of the notion almost made his eyes roll.

"Do you know when they're going to make their decision?" Kanan asked. "Hera didn't tell me."

"Miss Sufell told me they'd convene once her final report was complete. It could be in an hour, or a day." Kallus thought back to the cold gleam in the woman's eyes. "Or never."

"I think they'll aim to take care of this sooner rather than later," Kanan commented. "You're a skilled operative. They'll want you out there as soon as possible."

He was sure that if it had been Sufell's decision, it would be more likely he should expect a firing squad. For all he knew it still _might_ be. Kallus had no idea how much weight her reports held. The only hope he had at the moment was the clear fact the Alliance needed bodies to fight, and it would be foolish of them to execute him for the satisfaction of one woman. Despite the logic, it did not banish his worry. "Though I appreciate your optimism, I doubt they'll be so eager to trust a former Imperial ISB agent."

"You had the codename Fulcrum," Kanan pointed out. "That's a name that carries a lot of respect around here."

"Perhaps for others," Kallus countered. "But I'm under no illusion that I'm a … special case."

"Maybe." Kanan gave a small shrug. "But even if they don't trust the codename, they know what you did for us at Atollon, and they trust Hera. She's been asked to join the meeting to speak on your behalf. I'm confident that with her speaking for you, they'll see the good you did and make their decisions based off that."

Kallus couldn't help the scoff that slipped from his mouth, despite the quite hope that struggled to light itself in his chest.

"Does the Force tell you that?"

Again, he was under no illusion that the good of his actions did not, in fact, outweigh the bad. Though he believed Kanan when he said that Captain Syndulla would speak well on his behalf, more than once he'd threatened and harmed her crew. Her family. Even if her willingness to speak on his behalf was well-meaned, many would have a hard time overlooking his transgressions.

"No," Kanan admitted as they strode into the mess. "But your actions since you came to our side are speaking loudly. Everyone knows what you've risked."

Kallus forced his face blank as he ignored the stares he was receiving, the same stares he received everywhere he went. It didn't matter that he'd spaced his Imperial uniform and had adopted different clothes in an effort to further distance himself from who he'd been. They knew. They always knew, like they could see the Empire's brand upon him. On the rare occasions he was accompanied by members of Kanan's crew, like Zeb or Bridger, the staring and suspicious glares were less noticeable. But given Kanan's blindness, their boldness won out.

He couldn't help it. "Perhaps they know, and don't care."

Kanan turned his head toward Kallus as if he could see. As if he knew what many of the rebels around them were doing, despite his useless eyes.

"The people who matter know, and they care. That's what matters."

Kallus frowned, but couldn't come up with a retort for that one.

Though it had been hours since his last meal, Kallus felt little hunger and followed the Jedi's lead and collected a mug of steaming caf. It was terrible, worse than any he'd experienced with the Empire, but he did not comment on its taste. They sipped in silence, and though he'd expected the same awkward edge to creep up on him like it sometimes did with the others of the _Ghost_ _'s_ crew, with Kanan it didn't. It was oddly calm, almost companionable, and with his guards sitting at a table across from them, keeping him in sight but still far enough away not to feel oppressive, Kallus found his shoulders relaxing.

He also found himself staring long into the reflection that stared back at him from the surface of his half-empty mug.

"Have you thought about what you'll do, after they make their decision?"

Kallus pulled his eyes up to stare at the Jedi, his mouth faster than his mind. "You mean, if they've decided not to imprison me or have me killed?"

Kanan frowned as he centered that mask of his at him, those eye-like markings effective at making him feel pinned. "Neither are likely to happen, Kallus. Have some faith."

The solid, relentless belief in Kanan's words was hard to match. Kallus frowned as he thought of his life with the Empire, and the faith he'd had in it. "Forgive me if it seems that I have a problem putting my faith anywhere."

"You put your faith in me and my crew," Kanan pointed out. "We haven't let you down yet, have we?"

Kallus took a deep breath, but all he could respond with was silence because every time he'd needed them – even when he hadn't needed them _or_ wanted them – they'd been there.

"Fair enough," he finally admitted as he held his caf between his hands, savoring the lingering warmth as he considered the Jedi's question. The curve of his stray lock of hair swayed in his vision, and he stared at the strawberry blond as if it held his answers. "I don't really know."

"You never thought about it before all this happened? What you'd do if you'd ever gotten away from the Empire?"

"Kanan, you assume that I thought I _would_ get away from the Empire. That I had made plans, with the intention of eventually leaving it." His gaze dropped to his caf again. "There was no alternative plan, not even before Bridger warned me that I might be exposed. I did what I did to atone for the mistakes I'd made. For my … complacency. I never once considered I'd survive the Empire. It was a matter of time before I'd been found out, Thrawn or no, and I was willing to do everything I could until that point. Then they would execute me for treason. That was the extent of any thought for the future I had."

He didn't know how he'd expected the Jedi to respond to that fact that he'd all but accepted the likelihood of his death at the Empire's hands. That in its own way it had been a deadly test of his skill as much as a suicide mission. But it was the truth, and he'd spent the last five days telling the truth. He wasn't about to start lying now.

What Kallus hadn't expected was for Kanan to reach up and take his mask off, exposing his blinded eyes and stark scar. While he'd still been with the Empire, Kallus had heard rumors that Kanan Jarrus had been blinded, but he hadn't believed them until he'd seen the truth for himself on Lothal. Even now, having seen the scars and the milk-white of the blind in what had once been teal colored, it was still somewhat a shock.

"Do you mind?" Kanan asked, and Kallus was quietly surprised by how well the mask could hide away so much of Kanan's facial expression. It was almost as if he were looking at a different person.

"Not particularly, no."

Kanan sighed before his eyes glanced down at the mask between his hands, as if studying it.

"You know, I once thought the way you did. Perhaps not about atonement, or complacency, but I did at one point in my life believe I'd die within the folds of an organization. Back then, I hadn't considered what I might do if the impossible happened, and it stopped being my life."

"I assume you're talking about the Jedi Order?"

Kanan nodded and looked up, and Kallus had to admit he was surprised by the Jedi's openness. He hadn't expected it. "I was a Padawan during the Clone Wars. I got lucky and escaped."

"I had suspected."

"Well, I suppose it's to be expected, given the fact I'm still alive and I fight with a lightsaber and the Force," agreed Kanan with a quiet chuckle. "I don't know if you know much about how the Jedi were, back then."

"What I know of the Republic's Jedi, I wouldn't trust now," Kallus pointed out. "I grew up on Coruscant when the Empire was established. Any interaction with Jedi I might have had as a child before then has long since been forgotten and likely replaced with propaganda."

Kanan gave him a look that said he didn't think Kallus was wrong, and Kallus was thankful it went no further than that. He didn't want to think about how much of his childhood had been warped by dark lies, or how it felt now that he knew he'd been tricked. How he still, at times, felt like a traitor to the Empire even though he knew it was wrong. Kallus was still coming to terms with his new lot in life. It was not easy, but he _was_ trying.

"Well, I'm sure you know that most of us were recruited as younglings to the Temple, where we lived and trained to become Jedi." Kallus nodded. He knew that much. "But while you're training to become a Jedi, you're given strict lessons on proper Jedi behavior. The right way of thinking, for a Jedi. The established way of fighting, for Jedi. You're taught to depend on the Temple and the Order. Made to believe it will always be there to guide you, if you're ever in trouble."

There was no point finishing the story, and Kallus understood the connection Kanan was making.

"You were indoctrinated much the same way I was."

"And I lost the life I had there, just like you have now." Kanan's blind eyes seemed to regard him for a moment before he carried on. "The point, Kallus, is that I've been where you are. It's not the same, I know. I'll give you that. But there are parallels, and I know exactly what it feels like to be put in a life you know nothing about. That you never planned for or expected, and have to start over."

Kallus stared back into those blind eyes, and found he couldn't hold them.

"How did you adjust, then? What did you do to … find your way?"

A smile pulled at Kanan's lips as he set his mask down and looked away. It seemed to Kallus as if the Jedi were looking directly into the past.

"Well, I messed up a lot. I was a kid back then, and naive about the world despite having led clones into full-scale battles. But when Order 66 happened, I found the best I could do was survive, and make it up as I went."

"No wonder you made mistakes."

Kanan shrugged, but his grin was kind. "What can I say? I was young and impulsive and a little stupid. All that's really changed since then is that I'm not as young anymore, or as impulsive."

Kallus couldn't help but smirk, and he wondered if the Jedi knew it.

"So your blundering brought you to the life you have now."

"In part," Kanan agreed before he turned his pale eyes back at Kallus. "But every time I found a path, every time I found a way that brought out the best in me and in what I could do, it was always because I had others there to help me."

Kallus couldn't help the amused huff of breath that slipped from his nose as he saw where this was going.

"Is this your pitch, Kanan?"

"No pitch. Just an offer," Kanan replied calmly. "I know it seems like your options are limited right now, but if the Alliance allows you to, I hope you'll consider joining our crew. Even if it's only for a little while, until you know what you want to do or have figured out how you want to help. If you want to still help."

Kallus did, but he couldn't help but scoff and look away. Part of him wanted to accept. Kanan and his crew were the only ones he knew here. The only ones that showed him any modicum of acceptance. But he wouldn't accept if he was nothing more than a charity case.

"I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Kanan replied easily as he stood, taking his empty mug in hand as he picked up his mask. He didn't put it on, not yet. Instead he held Kallus's eyes. "I don't pity you, Kallus. I respect what you've done for the Alliance, despite your past. You risked everything and have asked for nothing in return. What I'm offering is support, and people who can help you find your way. That's all."

Kallus thought he understood now why Kanan had taken off his mask. The man's face was so expressive. Too expressive. He couldn't find a lie there no matter how hard he tried.

Kanan placed his mask back on, hiding away the brutal honesty that sat in those blind eyes before he moved around the table and dropped a hand on Kallus's shoulder. An echo of the on the Jedi had given him back on the _Ghost_ after Atollon.

"Just think about it."

Kallus eyed the hand there, a hand offered in support and understanding – something he wasn't sure he deserved. He smirked but shook his head at himself.

"Perhaps I will," he murmured, unsure if he was serious or not. "But what happens next isn't my decision, no matter what I might plan."

That hand on his shoulder squeezed for a moment before it dropped off. "Maybe not. But you shouldn't let that stop you from thinking about the future."

Kallus snorted softly in response. Even after this conversation, the future seemed to him like a black hole. Unknowable. Distant and frightening. But maybe there was a star of something there, now. Something to explore, if luck favored him.

"As you say. I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"True," Kanan agreed. "But try not to worry too much about what comes next. Either way, I have your back, and I know the rest of my crew does too. Whatever happens, we'll be there to help you."

Kallus wanted to retort. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it couldn't voice itself. Instead he watched the Jedi pass through the mess hall easily, as if guided by that invisible Force Kallus still couldn't quite wrap his mind around. Confident, when he should have been the least confident among them.

Kallus glanced back into the depths of his caf. Guarded and wary eyes stared back at him, but something new was there now too. He couldn't bring himself to study it for long, and instead he sighed before standing himself, waiting for Corporals Leto and Phrite to rise as well. As he walked with them, aware of all the eyes that followed after him, he wondered when he'd started to tentatively put his trust in Kanan, and that of his crew.

Kallus also wondered when he'd started to have hope, not only for the rebels and their dream of a better galaxy, but for himself as well.


	3. Considered and Repurposed

**Considered and Repurposed**

Kallus sat outside, watching Yavin 4's sky darken into evening while his guards stood nearby watching him. With his back facing them, and only the dense forest within his line of sight, he could almost imagine he was resting in some far-off world, far away from all his problems. Away from his mistakes and failures and decisions, and the looming question of his future.

Soft footsteps pulled him from his fantasy, alerting him of someone's approach. With a heavy sigh, he sat up in the makeshift bench and drew himself together, preparing for whoever or whatever was about to demand his attention.

It was Captain Syndulla.

He didn't say anything, not when he was studying her face for any telling hints or clues. She'd spoken on his behalf for his hearing. If she was here, that meant it was either over and she was here to tell him the Alliance's verdict, or she was here to tell him the hearing was being extended.

The Twi'lek woman brought with her no guards to take him away to whatever prison the Rebel Alliance used, so he suspected the latter.

"Corporal Leto. Corporal Phrite," Captain Syndulla said as she approached them. Both Corporals stood at attention for her. "You're both dismissed. I'll take it from here."

"Yes, Captain."

Kallus kept his gaze resolutely on Captain Syndulla, and not on the lingering gazes of the Corporals as they both made their way back into the ruins. Her features gave away nothing, perfectly composed, and Kallus had to fight hard to control the tiny fire of hope that flickered in his chest at what this might mean.

Captain Syndulla turned her eyes on Kallus, and wordlessly Kallus stood from his seat before coming smartly to attention for a superior officer.

"Captain Syndulla," Kallus said formally, his voice steady despite the growing throb in his chest. "I assume you and the Alliance have come to a decision?"

"Please, Kallus. Relax," she said. "And we have. I'm here to tell you what was decided in your hearing."

Kallus couldn't relax, not until the news of his fate was finally delivered. Instead he took a deep breath through his nose and steeled himself for what was to come. "The verdict, Captain Syndulla."

"You are being exonerated of charges and accepted into the Rebel Alliance," Captain Syndulla said, annunciating ever word so there was no risk of misunderstanding. "You're being placed in what's left of Phoenix Squadron, under probation. During this probationary period you will report to me and, at the end of it, the Alliance will reconvene so I can give a final report and recommendation."

Kallus slowly let the breath he'd locked in his lungs go, but ensured that was the extent of his visible relief. It hardly felt real, especially since the debriefing itself had ended only hours before.

"That didn't take long."

"Honestly, I hadn't expected it to," she told him. "Most of us were already impressed and thankful for the work you did as a Fulcrum agent. We were ready to have this hearing days ago. It was only at Moreena's insistence that we waited for her official report. She's also the one who insisted on the probation. I tried to argue against it, but it wasn't a battle I could easily win."

"I'll take what I can get," Kallus replied, his voice relieved no matter the fact that he was trying to actively hide it. It had just slipped out. "It's better than I'd been expecting."

Captain Syndulla lifted an eyebrow. "What were you expecting?"

Kallus shrugged. "Imprisonment. Firing Squad."

The Twi'lek's face crumpled in disbelief. "Those were never options on the table."

"Well then, Miss Sufell should specialize in interrogation. She certainly had me convinced. I'm sure she's thrilled by this turn of events."

Captain Syndulla snorted as she waved for Kallus to retake his seat and, after he did, she surprised him by taking the spot next to him.

"Moreena certainly made her stance on the matter clear," the Twi'lek agreed as she shoved her hands in her pockets and leaned back, digging her heels into the dirt. "When they assigned her to debrief you, I was worried she'd give you a hard time. There were rumors flying about that she has strong feelings about former Imperials."

"Then why assign her to me?"

"I imagine it's because she's the best we've got, or so I've heard." Captain Syndulla shrugged before her lips thinned. "I read her report. She dug too deep. A lot of the things I read were very … personal."

Kallus kept his face carefully blank to hide the tide of shame and embarrassment that threatened to rise in his throat. Logically he'd known that those in his hearing would have read Sufell's report, would know all the little shames and pleasures and horrifying secrets he'd divulged. In a detached way, he'd also known that Captain Syndulla would know them too.

But when faced with the knowledge like this, from the woman herself, to _know_ she knew more about him now than almost anyone else did in the galaxy … vulnerable wasn't the right word to describe how he felt. Neither was naked.

It was something deeper than that, so deep it felt as if his soul was exposed.

"I … I don't know what to say," Kallus managed to utter after swallowing back the bile and the panic.

"I do," she told him quietly. "And it's that I'm sorry. You defected to us, you _chose us_ , and this is how we've treated you? Grossly invaded your privacy?"

Kallus kept his eyes trained on the trees before them as they swayed in the wind, thinking about all the suspicion he'd encountered so far. "To be fair, it's better than the Empire would have treated me. I doubt I'd have received a hearing at all." After all, Governor Pryce had been intent on sending him out the airlock, even if Thrawn had made it clear he wanted Kallus tried for his treason.

"Maybe, but not by much," Captain Syndulla countered. "Most here want to be better than the Empire. To treat each other better since we've all been treated badly by the same monster we're trying to fight. This couldn't have been a good experience."

"It wasn't," Kallus agreed. "But to convince the Alliance of my cooperation, it was necessary."

"No, it wasn't," the Twi'lek refuted again, sitting up with a frown to look at him directly. "I wasn't the only one at the hearing who thought she went too far. She's being reprimanded, and on behalf of the Alliance we're also extending an apology. You were a Fulcrum Informant. You should have been treated better."

Again, Kallus didn't know what to say. He'd expected some brutality, and though yes he had endured the thorough scouring of his personal history with gritted teeth, he hadn't been surprised by it either. He'd expected worse. He'd prepared for worse because that's what the Empire would have done.

But this wasn't the Empire. And the Alliance … they were apologizing to him for the behavior of one of its subordinates. The Empire would never have done anything like that.

"Captain Syndulla—"

"Hera." The Twi'lek cut him off with a firm command. "Please, Kallus. Call me Hera."

Kallus couldn't quite make his lips form the name, or accept the informal nature of it. Instead, he hedged around it. "I ask that you keep what you've learned about me and my personal history to yourself. I understand I'm in no position to ask you of anything, but I'd appreciate it if you'd grant me that."

"You don't even need to ask me that. What I learned about you, I will keep in confidence," Hera promised. "It wasn't right that I learned so much about you the way I did. Please, don't worry. I won't tell a soul."

Coming from anyone else, he'd have been suspicious. But coming from this particular woman, he found his shame and embarrassment thinning. If there was anyone he thought he could trust in this way, oddly enough he thought it was her.

"Thank you. So, I am to join Phoenix Squadron," Kallus proceeded slowly, eager to change the topic. "In what way?"

"Truthfully, in whatever way you want," Captain … Hera replied. "As your commanding officer, I'm also here to ask you what you want to do. I can't do anything about your rank. Right now, you have none until the probationary period is over. But that doesn't mean you can't work where you want, and start proving yourself." The Twi'lek tilted her head to the side. "What sort of work do you want to do?"

Ever since his conversation with Kanan earlier in the mess, he'd been pondering his new future, the path he'd take next if there was the opportunity. There was now, and the longer he'd played with the idea of a future, the more the Jedi's offer had begun to appeal.

"Kanan … he spoke with me earlier," Kallus said quietly, unwilling to look the Twi'lek in the eyes. "I don't know if he told you, but he offered a position with your personal crew. On the _Ghost_."

"He told me," Hera said with a small smile. "And there is a position available, if you want it. Do you want it?"

"I was considering," he replied honestly. "I don't know what use I might be to you and your crew. Though capable, I am no Ace in the air, and willing as I am to fight on the front lines, I believe I might be overqualified."

Hera hummed thoughtfully. "From what I know about you, you're a bit of a Jack of all trades. With the type of missions my crew is usually assigned, that makes you a great addition since we often don't know what we're up against. You're professional, skilled, knowledgeable and, on top of that, you already know the team."

"I'm not so sure that last one should be considered a plus, Captain."

"Hera," Hera corrected again. "And I'd count that as a good thing. We know you, both the good and the bad. And believe it or not, we want to work with you. Help you find your way in the rebellion."

Kallus stared at the trees again as they grew darker with night settling on the horizon as he considered her words. Although Kanan had extended the offer, although Hera approved of it and he'd even brought it up himself, Kallus found a part of him was still reluctant. Disbelieving. It wasn't that he thought this was some sort of trap or trick — if he knew anything about the rebels that had terrorized him over the last few years, it was that they weren't entirely capable of that level of personal deceit — it just … wasn't adding up for him.

"You look like I'm about to pull a rug out from under you," Hera commented when he'd stayed silent for too long. "This isn't a trick."

"I didn't think it was," he admitted. "I just don't understand."

"Well, we have been working together for a while now, since you started operating as Fulcrum. And after what you did on Atollon—"

"That's not what I meant," Kallus interrupted. "What I meant, is that I don't understand why _you_ are willing to do this."

Both her eyebrows shot up as she stared at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Why wouldn't you?" he echoed. "I'm under no illusion that my being here, nor my actions helping you and the rebels, in no way discount everything I did to you and your people while I was still an Imperial agent. I know I've caused you a great deal of pain and suffering. If anyone should have a problem with my presence, it should be you."

Hera frowned, even as a small sigh escaped her. The look in her green eyes was tired, but it was also honest.

"Well, I won't lie to you. This is a strange situation for me. I've never taken anyone in who's directly hurt my family." She leaned forward to sit up. "But I like to think of myself as a better person than that. That I might rise above what you've done, and look at what you are doing. What you're planning on doing with the new life you have now." She caught his eyes. "Kallus. What you did, it's in the past. We can't cling to it if we're going to move forward."

"But that doesn't excuse it."

"You're right," she admitted. "It doesn't."

"Then forgive me if I still don't understand."

Hera sighed again, turning her eyes to the darkened forest.

"Though you did torment us … you also saved us, and helped us too. You risked your life to warn us about Thrawn. And yes, that doesn't excuse the past, but it is a reminder that people change, and make mistakes. I believe that your actions lately have made it clear that you're trying to make up for them. And though I might not forgive you, I am giving you a chance to earn back that forgiveness by focusing on the man you are now. The man you can become, if you want to work for it." She paused, then added with a pointed look. "You don't strike me as the type that fails."

Kallus gave her a slow, smile. "I try not to, but sometimes it's not as easy as it seems." His smile wavered and he looked at his hands. His hair fell into his eyes, this time from both sides, and he sighed at it. Now more of his hair was following the lead of that one rebellious strand. He didn't bother trying to push the mass back into proper order.

"I want to help," Kallus said. "I want to do what I can to make up for my mistakes. To fight the Empire as I should have from the beginning. Be … someone new." Kallus clenched his fists. "I find myself struggling in that endeavor. It feels as if all anyone sees is the Imperial I was. Sometimes it's all I see too."

"Not all of us do, and that'll change," Hera said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The action wasn't like Kanan's, who's had been firm and weighted. Hera's was lighter, but it was somehow stronger than the Jedi's had been, filled with conviction. "That's something that will have to be tested with time, Kallus. But there's a lot you can do to help people see the truth. You're not an Imperial anymore. In time, they'll see that." She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a smile. "In time, I hope you'll be able to see that too."

Kallus wasn't entirely sure, but supposed for now that he had little to lose in trusting her in this. He'd take a chance, test both the rebels and time itself to see how things might change. He would hope for the better.

And if not? Well, he supposed he'd figure something else out. Whatever that might be would still be better than what the Empire might have for him.

"So will you be joining my crew?"

Kallus took a slow, deep breath, holding his decision in his chest for one final moment before he let it out. "I will," Kallus agreed. "If you'll have me."

Hera smiled. "Good. We've already made space for you on the _Ghost_. I was a little worried that you wouldn't agree, but Kanan and Zeb thought it was more likely than not. They've been shifting things around all day with Ezra and the droids."

Kallus blinked, surprised. "You've … already made room for me?" He hadn't expected that. He'd expected this new posting to take some time, a day at least so she could break it to her crew that they would indeed be harboring Kallus for the foreseeable future. But it was already underway, liked they'd gambled.

Almost like they'd hoped. Hoped that he _would_ join them.

"We have," she said. "You'll be operating under the codename Specter 7 from now on. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear your Fulcrum days are over."

"Indeed. Specter 7." Kallus tested the codename on his tongue and found it strange to say. Even stranger that it now referenced him, and not some distant set of people he'd agonized over hunting, and later helping.

But it was a part of him now, and after a moment he straightened and nodded to her.

Hera nodded back. "Good. Now that you're on board, I'll need you to report to the _Ghost_ after you pick up whatever personal effects you have."

Kallus snorted before gesturing toward himself. "I've come fully prepared, Captain. I didn't exactly come with much to begin with. If you didn't know, I spaced most everything I _did_ come with."

Hera chuckled. "Zeb did tell me that. And again, it's Hera. But if you're ready, go to the _Ghost._ Chopper and AP-5 are waiting there to take you to supply for gear, and will help get you settled. You should do that soon. We'll be leaving before dawn for our next mission. I think it's time we get you out in the field working with us rebels."

The prospect of a mission, activity of _any_ sort after days stuck with nothing to do but lay bare his life-story, made his heart quicken with excitement. "Yes, Captain."

"I'm going to break you of that, sooner or later," Hera said, her smile turning into a smirk, and Kallus shook his head.

"I rather doubt it. Besides, as I hear it, it's likely you're due for a promotion soon."

To his surprise, Hera made a face. "You know about that?"

It was a struggle not to let his lips twitch up into a smirk. "I believe everyone knows about it."

"Well, until the day I get that promotion, how about when we're off duty you call me by my first name. Or better yet, I'm ordering you to."

Kallus consented. "As you say, Captain Syndulla." The Twi'lek's eyes narrowed and Kallus simply stood straighter and lifted his chin. "I believe we're still on duty, are we not?"

"Oh, you're one of those types, aren't you?" Hera muttered blandly, and the smirk he'd struggled to hide momentarily cracked onto his lips.

"I have no idea what type you're referring to, Captain."

Hera rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Well, all things considered, it could be worse. I don't think you're likely to start prank wars, at least."

Now Kallus made a face. "I assume you're talking about Bridger."

"He was worse in the beginning." Hera's eyes softened and with it her face did too. She stood, waiting for Kallus to do the same, before she extended a hand. "Welcome to the _Ghost_ crew, Kallus. I'm happy to have you. We all are."

Kallus stared at the hand offered, both in welcome and command, and slowly took it. Her grip was firm and sure, just like she was, and as with Kanan he found no deceit in her eyes.

"Thank you," he said before releasing her hand and giving her a small, grateful smile. "Hera."

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to know what you thought about it.


	4. Placed and Accepted

**Placed and Accepted**

"Hey Kallus," Bridger said from the landing above just as Kallus took his first step onto the _Ghost_ _'s_ ramp. "Did you talk to Hera already?"

"Yes," Kallus replied, pausing in his approach to eye the boy, uneasy but unwilling to show it. "I've agreed to join the crew for the duration of my probation. She told me to come here."

Kallus watched as Bridger leaned back, hands wrapped around the railing to call into the cockpit _._ "Hey, Chop! Kallus is here. Go take him to supply, alright?" Bridger turned back. "We're actually not quite done getting things ready for you yet. Chop's going to take you to get weapons and armor. Equipment. Whatever you need."

"Yes, Captain Syndulla already informed me," Kallus drawled though he wasn't looking at the young Jedi. A familiar, scrappy looking C1 astromech rolled past Bridger to whack him in the leg with a small metal arm as he gurgling binary. Bridger scowled, and though Kallus was tempted to smirk in response he kept his face carefully blank. "I was told there was another droid as well? AP-5?"

Chopper turned his photoreceptor toward Kallus and waved his arms as that gritty tone now addressed him. AP-5 had gone ahead to smooth out the process. Chopper would escort him to supply in the meantime.

"You got that, right?" Bridger asked, and this time Kallus couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"He's speaking a simple binary dialect. It's hardly complicated."

Chopper gurgled an agreement as he rolled down the ramp, waving a metal arm for Kallus to follow. The droid chittered another smart comment, one that made Kallus stare with bemused bewilderment.

"You're kidding. Zeb has been with you for this long and he _still_ doesn't understand you?"

Chopper warbled, and Kallus didn't know which he felt more. Disappointed with Zeb for his lack of initiative, or sympathetic to the droid. Perhaps both.

At Chopper's guidance, they moved into the core of the base, into sections Kallus hadn't been allowed access to. The new freedom — chaperoned as it was — was liberating. He didn't know if it was because news of his acceptance by the leaders of the Alliance had trickled out to the general population, or if it was due to his own marginally brighter mood, but it also seemed that those he passed weren't looking at him with the same level of suspicion as they had only hours ago.

Though most either ignored him or got out of his way, a few gave him kind looks. A young woman even gave him a small smile, though he noticed telling hints indicating many of these kinder individuals were ex-Imperials. Though softened by time, they tended to walk with the echo of a march. A subtle gauntness and clean-cut edge lingered in the perfect lines of their clothes, the trim of their hair, or the look in their eyes. Although Zeb had commented his own Imperial bearing was glaringly visible, seeing it in these others who had been here longer, Kallus wondered how visible his really was. Already his shoulders had pulled back into a command posture, and he moved with forceful purpose without intentionally thinking about it.

Frowning, Kallus forced his shoulders to relax and his pace to soften. Practice. This would take practice. Discouraging as it was to find how easily he fell back into old habits, no one said this was going to be easy. It would take time.

"Do you know how long this will take?" Kallus asked Chopper, fatigue sweeping over him in an unexpected rush. All he wanted at the moment was to get his equipment, return to the _Ghost_ , and rest. The last week and its uncertainty had finally caught up to him. Now that his future for the time being had stabilized, exhaustion crept into his mind and body. He was just … tired.

The astromech gurgled, and a confused pinch developing in Kallus's brow at the reply of two standard hours. "There's no way it should take that long. Not to offend, but I doubt you rebels are as well-equipped as the Empire."

Chopper warbled matter-of-factly. Kallus frown deepened. "Then I'll have to ask AP-5 to stick to essentials. Frankly, so long as he gives me a blaster, that will be enough for me. Though a flak vest would be appreciated—"

Abrupt force slammed into Kallus's shoulder as a tall man with short blond hair glared as if it was _Kallus_ who'd struck him, and not the other way around. "Watch it, Imp!"

Kallus stared, face blank as he determined his options. Though he itched to teach this man some respect, acting foolishly like that would only hurt him in the end. Kallus understood his situation. It wouldn't do him any good to start his probationary period off with a fight, even with Chopper present to act as his witness. Until he proved himself, he was likely to encounter more behavior like this. For now, it was better to bide his time and be patient. To think instead of react.

So, Kallus said slowly, "Apologies." He ensured his tone was bland and conveyed no apologies at all, but it was enough by any standard to place the ball firmly in the man's – a sergeant by his rank insignia – court. The sergeant clearly meant to pick a fight, to incite Kallus into a confrontation. Since it hadn't worked, he glowered instead.

"Watch yourself, sleemo."

The blond stalked away after shoving his shoulder a second time.

Kallus kept his face smooth, but noted Chopper had fallen oddly silent. He rolled beside him as they continued again, while his photoreceptor remained trained on the rebel as he disappeared around the corner they'd just come from.

"Do you know him?"

The binary which sailed out of the old astromech was positively filthy in response. Kallus resisted the urge to chuckle and settled instead with a smirk.

"Yes. I agree he was quite rude."

Kallus continued to listen to Chopper grumble as the droid considered out loud what he might do if he ever ran into that man again. And if Kallus wanted in on the plan.

"As appealing as that sounds," Kallus said approvingly, "I _am_ under probation. If I so much as put my toe out wrong, I've no doubt they'll imprison me." Kallus's smirk strained. "Until it's over, I've no choice but to be on my best behavior. Even if there are fools here who are going to make me work for it."

Again Chopper went silent, stayed silent, until he stopped in front of a doorway with 'Supply and Armory' written on the sign next to it. Inside was a large cavern filled with rows and rows of metal shelving brimming with tools and equipment of all types. Not a soul was in here, with the exception of another familiar droid.

"Ah, welcome Kallus," AP-5 said as he turned to the counter he was manning. "I see that Chopper managed to get you here. _Late_ , I might add."

Chopper warbled a gritty line of binary that Kallus took to mean 'kriff off', before he rolled around and positioned himself beside Kallus as he stepped up to the table.

"We ran into some trouble on the way," Kallus said as he looked around, taking everything in with a fine eye. The lingering Imperial in him made note of all the important weapons, munitions, and equipment he could see, while also feeling exposed for being caught looking at all. But he was one of them now. A rebel. He could look if he wanted.

He hoped the discomfort would vanish one day. Though not likely any day soon he knew.

"I'm surprised I haven't heard about it already," AP-5 droned. "Chopper has a way of making his way through the news network."

This time when Kallus looked down at Chopper, the astromech didn't deny it. Kallus supposed he wasn't all that surprised, given what he knew of Chopper's reputation.

"Captain Syndulla instructed me to come to you for equipment before we leave on mission in the morning," Kallus said, eager to get on with this. "I'd appreciate it if this was expedient."

"Of course," AP-5 said, gesturing for Kallus to follow him. "You're in luck. A week ago this place was in shambles. I doubt even _I_ could have gotten you ready before you needed to leave. But since my arrival, I have cleaned and organized everything. Most of what you need I have already collected. All that's left is armor sizing and weapon selection."

Kallus nodded, pleased by the news as he continued to look around, when he noticed a certain pattern. Order. A disturbingly familiar one.

"It is amazingly organized." Kallus took a guess. "Imperial standards?"

"Of course," AP-5 agreed, an impressed air lingering in his tone. "The Empire is a terrible place to work, as I know you will agree, but when it came to standards of order they are unmatched. I used Imperial filing and organizational procedures." AP-5 waved to the perfect order around them. "After I fixed everything, productivity levels improved by forty percent."

"I'm not surprised." Kallus continued to take in the familiar organization with quiet, but potent relief. He knew he shouldn't feel good about taking comfort in the presence of an Imperial touch, but he did. With all the change in his life, a little familiarity went a long way to settling him. Even if it was Imperially-natured.

As the inventory droid promised, most everything he needed was already placed in a box, a list of its contents on the datapad AP-5 handed him for review. As Kallus scoured the list, his brow furrowed.

"An entrenching tool? You're kidding." Even in the Empire, these small shovels were a joke and all but useless. There was no way the rebellion had need of them either.

"I believe the saying is better to have and not need, than need and not have?" the droid replied. "Besides, I shouldn't be doing this but I am giving you everything you need, and _more_." The conspiratorial tone in his voice was clear. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone. I certainly wouldn't do it for obsolete astromechs. But you're a fellow ex-Imperial. It's the least I can do."

Chopper again told AP-5 to kriff off, and to see if he'd fix AP-5 if AP-5 ever needed help from now on. Kallus snorted. If not for the banter, and some small history watching these two bicker, he would have thought these droids were mortal enemies. Especially given the fact he'd just caught Chopper rearranging several boxes while AP-5 wasn't watching.

"I appreciate it, but I can't even begin to imagine why I'd need a shovel," Kallus pointed out, but sighed because the droid wasn't listening, intent instead on pulling out flak vests for Kallus to try on. He let it go. If worst came to worst, he could at least use the heavy shovel to beat Bridger with when the young Jedi was being a nuisance. That was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

Soon Kallus was back at the table with his box of equipment, his new flak vest, and a satisfactory blaster arranged neatly as he signed for them. He handed the datapad back to AP-5 to verify the exchange.

"If you ever need anything, come right to me. I will get you whatever you need," the droid promised.

"Thanks," Kallus replied, about to lift his box and leave when footsteps sounded behind him. Chopper's binary, as he chittered at AP-5, abruptly cut off. Kallus glanced over his shoulder.

The rude sergeant from before.

"Move, Imp."

Without preamble Kallus was jostled to the side by another rough shove to the shoulder as the rebel took his spot at the desk. AP-5 regarded the man silently. Beside Kallus, Chopper abruptly launched into violent and angry gargles of binary, waving his small metal arms in defiance. The astromech was blatantly ignored as the sergeant addressed AP-5.

"I need parts."

AP-5 stared for a long moment.

"Parts."

"That's right," he said in a raspy voice. "I need parts."

Again, the inventory droid stared, motionless. "You'll have to be more specific than … parts."

"Power generator parts."

AP-5 sighed heavily, his tone an exasperated drawl. "That hardly narrows it down."

"Regulators," the sergeant growled.

"Have you sent in a supply request? You can hardly expect me to have things ready for you without proper warning and authorization." AP-5 waved a metal hand. "I can't just _give_ things away. There are procedures."

"You're lucky I'm not in charge or droid maintenance and repair," the sergeant glowered. "With that attitude, I'd have you scrapped."

"Then indeed, it's a good thing it's not your decision to make," AP-5 returned blandly, unperturbed. "Your supply request, Sergeant Covoriee?"

"Here," Sergeant Covoriee snarled, yanking the datapad out of AP-5's grasp to aggressively draw up the request before shoving it back in front of the droid's photoreceptors. "Everything in order, _droid_?" Covoriee turned hateful eyes at Kallus. "What are you staring at, sleemo?"

"Not a thing," Kallus replied primly. "Simply waiting to conclude my own business."

Covoriee sniffed disdainfully. "He can finish with you after me. Now. My regulators?"

AP-5 looked past Covoriee to Chopper. Kallus noticed the astromech give AP-5 the quickest blip, and in response AP-5 turned and gestured Covoriee after him.

"Right this way."

Beside Kallus, Chopper slowly began to creep after, and Kallus watched on curiously. This should be interesting.

"Here we are," AP-5 said, removing a box filled with parts, almost handing it to Covoriee before looking down and drawing away. "No. These aren't correct." AP-5 took the next box over and looked down at them again, made a move to give them to the rebel before taking it back again. "Sorry. These aren't the right ones either."

It was years of practice which ensured Kallus's face remained composed as he watched the droid go through the same process with almost every box and crate in the line, much to the sergeant's thinning patience. All the while, Chopper slipped behind the row, watching as if he was judging the situation. Occasionally, Kallus caught AP-5 looking briefly up to catch the astromech as he weaved, careful to remain out of sight. As if he was waiting.

Finally, it appeared the sergeant was a moment from exploding. Chopper waved a metal arm, and AP-5, to Kallus's pleasure, stepped back to the first box of regulators and pulled it out again.

"No, no. I was wrong. These are the correct regulators you need. My mistake."

Covoriee all but combusted.

"Are you kriffing _serious_?" Covoriee yanked the box from AP-5's hands and snarled. "Useless droid! No wonder the Empire let you get away! You're probably as useless as he is." There was no question as to who 'he' referred to. Kallus, for his part, resolved to sit back and watch this one play out.

"Oh," AP-5 droned. "I'm so sorry. It seems I've developed problems with my photoreceptors. That must be the reason for my mistake." The droid turned at the waist, his metal arm arching out to knock the box of regulators out of the sergeant's hands. They clattered to the ground, sprawling everywhere. AP-5 straightened. "Dreadfully sorry."

Covoriee scowled before dropping to his knees to gather the fallen parts when Chopper chortled quietly from where he'd been lying in wait on the other side of the shelves. He crept up behind the man and, as the sergeant grumbled angrily, a small metal clamp seized upon the shelving above, and yanked.

With a crash, three shelves worth of parts came tumbling down, causing boxes and a whole collection of filthy weapons cleaning rags to scatter and coat Covoriee. Kallus took a discreet step back and turned his nose away. It smelled as if a bottle of cleaning oil had also spilled all over the sergeant as well.

Covoriee scowled again, shoving the mess away from him violently as he flung his eyes about in accusation. But he couldn't blame Kallus, he was much too far away to have had a hand in the misfortune. And Chopper had quickly repositioned himself by Kallus's side once again in the ensuing catastrophe.

Anger made the sergeant's face darken to red as he snapped at Kallus.

"Do something!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do a thing," Kallus said dryly as he continued to look on. "This droid is the one in charge of me, not the other way around. I can't make either of them help you. If that's problematic, you should speak with their owner, Captain Syndulla."

Even if Covoriee hadn't known anything about Chopper, he clearly knew Captain Syndulla's name given the way his eyes widened with realization. The rebel shot a quick glare at Chopper, who was quiet and innocent as could be, before he cast it at Kallus.

"Then why don't _you_ get down here and help me, Imp?"

Chopper immediately came to life, one metal arm bending at its hinge to rest against his metal body while the other waved as he warbled orders into the air. Kallus inwardly snickered while AP-5 instead addressed Sergeant Covoriee.

"Unfortunately Kallus has been given strict orders to sign for his equipment before returning promptly to his duty station. Chopper cannot allow him to be deterred."

Chopper gurgled gritty binary, rolling toward Kallus before gripping the edge of his jacket in his clamps and dragging him toward AP-5 like a bossy overseer. Kallus passed the man who was still kneeling on the floor amid the mess with a shrug.

"I do what he tells me to."

"Stupid Imp," Sergeant Covoriee growled as he abruptly stood, leaving the mess in the middle of the floor, exactly where it was. "Stupid droids!" With that he stormed out, and all three of them watched him go. Chopper immediately released Kallus, whooping with success, and Kallus couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips.

"Well, maybe he'll learn to be more polite in the future. There's no point in being unnecessarily rude to droids. You certainly make things easier." Chopper chittered, telling him that it wasn't the first time that particular organic had been rude to him or AP-5. He wasn't going to put up with it now that that bad behavior had been directed at their new friend. Kallus was a rebel too now, same as Covoriee. _Better_ than Covoriee. Kallus blinked at the astromech, careful to keep his face blank as he processed what the droid had said. Friend?

It struck Kallus. Had … had everything they'd just done been on his behalf?

"Satisfying as that was, now I have a mess to clean up," AP-5 groaned before he knelt and began picking up parts and rags with mechanical slowness. "It'll take an age. I'll have to make a formal report if anything's missing."

Despite Kallus's eager desire to get back to the _Ghost_ , given what these droids had done on his behalf, he found himself reaching for the broom that rested in the corner. This was grunt work, the work of those with no rank, but right now that was exactly what he was. Though his pride as a former high-ranking ISB agent smarted at the menial labor, he swallowed it and set to work, pushing scattered parts and dirty rags back toward the droid. It was the least he could do for such unexpected loyalty.

"Then I guess we'll have to make sure we find everything."

AP-5 regarded him as if in surprise. So did Chopper. Neither said anything in response. Instead AP-5 gave a small impressed hum before setting to work.

"The rebellion is lucky to have you, Kallus. It's good to know that there are some in the ranks who know the meaning of hard work."

"This is hardly anything I'd consider 'hard work'," Kallus commented as he continued to collect pieces. "But I am grateful for what you did. Both of you."

Chopper whooped again, then to both his and AP-5's surprise began helping as well. Though it took longer than he'd have liked, soon the inventory droid was satisfied that they'd found everything and all was back in their proper places. Kallus put his broom back and picked up his box.

"Thank you for getting me what I needed," he told the droid as he and Chopper exited the supply room. AP-5 followed after.

"We ex-Imperials should stick together," AP-5 replied. "There are more of us then you might realize. Why, just the other day I met another former Imperial droid. I believe his name was K-2—"

"Kallus! You done there with the tinman and the rust bucket?"

Kallus looked up as Zeb neared, cutting off AP-5, and he allowed a small smirk to slip onto his lips. He shifted the box of supplies he'd been issued.

"Well, I've been equipped, if that's what you mean." Kallus gave a nod toward AP-5. "AP-5 was quite thorough."

The Lasat made a face. "Was he now?" Kallus let Zeb paw through the gear, and smirked when he gave the entrenching tool the same bewildered look Kallus had given it earlier.

"That's useless. But at least he made sure you got a blaster. That's useful at least." Zeb frowned. "Shame about the bo-rifle."

Kallus's smirk slipped away at the thought of his lost weapon, now left in the clutches of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

"One day I'll get it back." That was a promise. But until then, he reached for his new blaster and let his hand curl around its grip, finding he rather liked it. "In the meantime, I can make decent use of this."

"I'm sure. But nothing beats the bo-rifle," Zeb said with pride. "We're definitely going to get it back." Kallus kept his face composed as he quietly evaluated both the confidence in the Lasat's voice, and the fact that he'd said 'we'. Kallus eyed Zeb, but the Lasat wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead he addressed the droids.

"I've got him. Hera wants you two in the command room. She's got something she needs you to take care of."

Chopper gurgled in binary, pivoting before tapping a small mechanical clamp against Kallus's thigh, welcoming him and telling him that he was looking forward to working with someone so reliable for a change. AP-5 gave an elaborate mechanical sigh, one which somehow caused his metal shoulders to heave, despite the lack of lungs. He turned to Kallus.

"I look forward to working with you too. Dependable help is so hard to find, and as I said earlier; we ex-Imperials should stick together. I hope you'll stop by the next time you and the _Ghost_ return to Yavin." The inventory droid turned to lock up supply, then paused. "Oh, and I'd advise you to be careful of Chopper. He has a tendency to make things harder than they should be."

Cranky gurgling echoed down the hall, Chopper responding in binary with some colorful choice phrases as both droids drifted away, still arguing with each other.

"Seems they've taken a shine to you," Zeb muttered thoughtfully as they watched the droids. Kallus stared after them and he couldn't help but feel oddly pleased. Though he was better with droids than he often was with people, they'd surprised him when they'd stuck up for him back there.

They'd even called him 'friend'. And he'd believed them.

"That shouldn't be so surprising," Kallus replied as he strode back toward the hanger bay where the _Ghost_ waited with Zeb walking beside him. "They're dependable and they're rational. They deserve respect for their efforts."

"And you give them that?" Zeb said incredulously as if Kallus had lost his mind. "Those two droids are the last you want to depend on. And I'd hardly call them rational."

Kallus cast a glance at the Lasat and lifted an eyebrow, even if he had to shake the errant fall of his hair out of his gaze to do it. Not dependable? How many missions had he seen the _Ghost_ crew use Chopper for? Kallus couldn't think of a time when that scrappy C1 hadn't pulled through for them in some subtle way despite his cranky attitude. And AP-5 may have enough snark to power an entire fleet of ISD's, but of the times he'd worked with the inventory droid, he'd been nothing if not rational and productive.

"I don't give them anything," Kallus admitted. "They've earned it. You're blind if you don't see that."

"Then I guess I'm blind," grunted Zeb. "Come on."

They made their way through the hanger bay easily, and by the time they arrived on the _Ghost_ _'s_ ramp, Bridger was there waiting.

"Hope AP-5 hasn't given you a whole lot of useless junk."

"He has a blaster. That's all that's important," Zeb said. "Show him around."

"I'm sure I don't require a grand tour," Kallus said. "This ship isn't that complicated. I'm positive I saw it all on the trip here."

Bridger shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe you missed something. It won't take long anyway."

It wasn't awful, and true to his word, the tour had been brief. But Kallus wasn't at all surprised when the boy swept through the job, telling him nothing new as they breezed from place to place with hardly time enough for a glance. In the galley however, Kallus lingered briefly so as not to let Bridger notice.

Given its size, Kallus had no idea how he'd missed seeing it on the long trip to Yavin from Atollon, but it was there and just seeing it called to him. Made his fingers itch for the ivory he knew was just waiting there like a quiet, patient lover.

A piano, bolted to the floor with a thin layer of dust covering its black surface.

Much as he wanted to go to it, to clean the instrument, fine-tune it, depress even a _single_ key, he instead followed Bridger and was thankful the boy seemed none the wiser. That was good. Kallus would find time later, with any luck, when there was some privacy. Then he'd see just how much the years away had worn away at his skill.

Finally, they came to a series of four doors just before the cockpit. Crew quarters, that much he knew.

But he did not know which would be his.

"Here are the cabins. Each are equipped to house two, except Sabine's." Bridger threw a thumb over his shoulder at one of the four doors. "Since we don't know when she's coming back, we cleaned it up but ultimately that'll be guest quarters for now. We get a lot of guests, believe it or not."

"Not mine, I take it?"

Bridger huffed a laugh, but shook his head. "You're not exactly a guest here, Kallus. You double bunk with the rest of us. You're a Specter now."

Fair enough, Kallus had to admit. He should have known better than to get his hopes up with the possibility that he'd be given his own room.

"And the others?" Kallus asked, moving on. "Whose are they?"

"That one's Hera's. Kanan's there," Bridger now indicated the other side of the hall. "And that one's Zeb's. Don't worry. I've moved my stuff, so there's plenty of room for you."

Kallus looked between Kanan's cabin and Zeb's. Where had Bridger been staying, and which would be Kallus's assigned cabin? Already he could think of pros and cons for staying with either Kanan or Zeb. However, he wasn't entirely sure which option he preferred more, but he wasn't about to fall into the same trap he'd fallen into earlier and get his hopes up by deciding.

"So … I will be staying—?"

"With Zeb," Bridger replied in a pleased, upbeat tone that Kallus was immediately suspicious of. "I cleaned everything out. Even flipped the mattress for you and changed the linens. Everything's ready for you."

Kallus continued to eye the young Jedi.

"You're strangely excited about this."

Bridger shrugged, a small grin on his lips as he walked over a room and stepped into Kanan's quarters.

"I love Zeb. He's great."

"Then why do you look relieved to have moved?" Kallus pressed coolly, and again Bridger shrugged though his grin grew larger.

"Zeb snores."

Kallus was silent for a long, long moment, his face deadpanned.

"I see."

"Anyway," Bridger said brightly. "Welcome aboard!"

The younger Jedi vanished into Kanan's cabin. After taking a deep breath through his nose he stepped into the cabin he and Zeb would be sharing. Zeb was already waiting inside, moving weapon's parts onto a small desk as Kallus took a moment to look around.

It was small. Perhaps a little larger than his quarters back on any Star Destroyer, but then he'd been high enough rank that he hadn't had to share quarters either. Between them, he had to admit the space would be tight. And there was an odd smell he couldn't decide if he would accept or not.

But it was his home now, and all things considered, he was lucky to have it.

"It's not much," Zeb said gruffly as he crossed his arms, watching Kallus as he made quick note of everything of importance. "But it's everything we've ever needed." Zeb nodded to the upper bunk. "That one's yours."

"Thanks," Kallus replied as he placed his belongings on his bunk before checking to make sure that the drawers under it were, in fact, empty and not filled with some 'welcome gift' Bridger might have left behind. Ever since Captain Syndulla's comment about prank wars, Kallus was on guard.

Thankfully they were empty. He put his things away. It didn't take him even five minutes.

"I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Best get some shut-eye before we leave at dawn. General rule is whoever goes to bed last turns off the lights." Zeb stepped around him before slipping into the bottom bunk. "Otherwise, not too many real rules of etiquette."

"I think I've got it," Kallus said before he turned the lights off. The thick darkness and the fatigue of the last few days slammed into him, and smell or not, he was ready to lay down. In the dark he made his way to the foot of the bunk before kicking off his boots and climbing up. Carefully, he settled himself on the bed, his bed, and let his eyes peer into the darkness.

His body slowly relaxed and, though he was tired, he didn't sleep. Not yet. Instead he listened. Waited.

Below he heard Zeb shift. He could hear the Lasat's breath, a steady rhythm that grew slower and slower as time passed. Outside their cabin he heard the sound of rotors whirling, Chopper returning from whatever the Captain needed of him. If he strained his ears, Kallus thought he could even hear Bridger next door, listening to some music he could hardly make out but was positive indicated poor taste. The only familiar sound in the whole place was the faint hum of the ship, idle but alive. It wasn't too different from any of the Empire's ships. That sound alone would ease the trip to sleep, he knew. After spending a lifetime listing to it, it was his sole lullaby.

But tired as he was, he continued to listen to his new home for a long time, wanting to relax into it and knowing that it would take him days before he felt comfortable enough for anything like that. Until then, he'd at least enjoy the solitude and his tentative freedom.

A faint sound broke the silence; growing loud and receding as it stabilized into a steady rhythm that followed Zeb's breathing pattern. Kallus sighed as it grew marginally louder in the darkness.

Well. Bridger hadn't been lying after all. Zeb did snore.

This time when he listened, he focused on it, judging it with a well-trained ear before finally relaxing. He turned on his side and closed his eyes to the darkness around him, content for the time being. The snoring really wasn't as bad as Bridger had led him to believe. The boy clearly had never spent extensive time sleeping in open-bay barracks. Kallus smirked into his pillow. In truth, it was somewhat soothing, in a gruff sort of way. A reminder of where he was. What he'd done. His choice.

Not that he'd ever tell anyone that.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this one and found it entertaining! AP-5 is so hard for me to write. I've been slowly practicing him for months, and I hope his sass came through well enough. A few things. I have no idea if something like an entrenching tool (look it up, it's a fold-able shovel) or a piano are in the SW universe, but for the purposes of this fic, they are. A while back I read somewhere that the Ghost has a piano somewhere in it? I have no idea if that's true or not either, but I like the idea so I'm running with it. It will make another appearance in future chapters, so that'll be something to look forward to :] The entrenching tool might as well.

Anyway, again I hope you liked this chapter, and I'd love to know what you thought!


	5. Measured and Sharpened

**Measured and Sharpened**

Kallus, contrary to popular belief and a lifetime attempting to convince the world otherwise, was not a patient man.

Granted, it did depend on the situation. In battle, he could be infinitely patient. That was necessary to survive. The same could be said for his work. But when it came to people, that boundless patience often seemed to dwindle and eventually die.

It appeared nonexistent around Bridger.

In the month since Kallus had been assigned to the _Ghost_ crew, it was a true testament to his devotion to his new life that he hadn't simply abandoned it or gone insane from it.

The others gave him very few problems. He got along well with Captain Syndulla because she was his superior and had long since earned his respect. She was reasonable, logical and, true to her word, she was working just as hard as he was in moving beyond his past. He might even say they were beginning to become friendly. Kanan was always good for advice and the strange Jedi calm he now carried with him no matter where he went. Chopper was good for amusement, and Zeb was a good companion.

But Bridger.

He and Bridger had never gotten along, and though there was something of a truce between them given the young man's unexpected — and at the time, unwanted — help during the Bridger-Lyste fiasco, that hardly made them friends. Most of the problems that developed between himself and Bridger were differences of character more than anything else. Bridger was undisciplined. Kallus couldn't imagine his life without discipline. Bridger was annoying, and couldn't shut up to save his life. Kallus was reserved in comparison, and preferred silence to constant chatter.

The simple fact of the matter was that, though they were comrades now, they were like oil and water. They did not mix, and that made their encounters frequently volatile. More often than not, Kallus felt as if a good, successful day was one where he hadn't killed the younger Jedi. Admittedly, there had been some close days, and he thought about the methods he'd use perhaps more than was acceptable.

To be fair, his lack of patience wasn't all due to Bridger. Some of it came from the … nature of his new life, and the way he had to live it. The _Ghost_ , for all its size, felt incredibly tiny to him. Most of his life had been spent planet-side somewhere on some base, or on massive Star Destroyers while he completed his work; places with ample room to move. Space enough for even a small amount of privacy.

Neither space or privacy existed on the _Ghost_ for anyone except Captain Syndulla. Rooms were shared, common spaces were exactly what they were, and inevitably the moment Kallus found a spot to himself, someone — usually Bridger — would find it too. Kallus' favorite place on the ship was the hold when he was training, or the turret when he wasn't training, working, or in the middle of a dogfight. On those occasions they found themselves in a skirmish – surprisingly more often than he'd ever expected – he readily surrendered his position to Kanan as the turret gunner so he could take the copilot's seat and aid Captain Syndulla.

It had taken him several fights to find his niche within the crew. Captain Syndulla was, of course, the pilot and leader. Kanan, Zeb, and Ezra were all gunners. Chopper was tech and repair. Short of taking the _Phantom II_ out and providing support that way, there were no more gunner positions, and Chopper was more than capable of tech and repair. It had left Kallus at a loss as to what he should do.

That was, until everyone was surprised to find what an asset he was in tactical analysis when fighting Imperials. Himself included.

As a former elite member of the ISB, and liaison to many admirals in his time with the Imperial Navy, Kallus saw through Imperial formations and tactics faster than the entire _Ghost_ crew combined could on their best days. He knew many of the men and women who commanded these ships because he'd had to keep an eye on, and investigate, many of them while he'd been out in the Outer Rim these past few years. It had been part of his duties, and he'd been required to send detailed reports to Coruscant on a weekly basis.

It meant he often knew the history and battle tactics of the enemies they faced. He became the _Ghost_ crew's own Imperially-specialized, diluted version of Thrawn.

Oh, the irony.

Captain Syndulla had quickly decided intelligence was exactly where she wanted him. In battle Kallus' job was to study and pick apart the flow of combat, and give them whatever advantage was possible. Barring that, he also provided support to anyone who required assistance, since he was a jack-of-all trades. Outside of battle, intelligence also gave him purpose. While the others would relax and lounge around, he was thrilled to find work in the dense reports the rebellion would often send them in the hopes he'd find something useful. More than a few times he had, and he was the moving force behind no less than five successful missions unaffiliated with the _Ghost_ crew. Kallus was confident that number would grow.

Unfortunately, a month of hard work and growing success was hardly enough for anyone to feel comfortable leaving him alone for too long. Not that he blamed them. If he were in their position, he'd do the same thing and leave someone to watch over him while the rest of the crew handled a job. Usually, when that happened, he was left alone with Chopper, or Kanan, or Zeb, or Captain Syndulla. None of them made him _feel_ as if he were being watched, so it was never a problem.

But Bridger? That was an entirely different story.

The rest of the crew had been pulled away for a quick mission down on some nameless moon below, and he and Bridger had been ordered to stay behind and keep an eye on things. Kallus was doing just that as he poured over intelligence reports, sifting through them with a hand buried in his long hair as he attempted to glean anything useful from them.

Bridger – child that he was – sat in the seat next to him tossing a ball at the viewport. Annoying though that was, that wasn't what was getting to him. The young Jedi would throw the ball, let it go within inches of striking the surface, before he'd summon it back with the Force as if it was on a string. It would have been one thing if the ball had done what it was supposed to do and struck the surface before bouncing back. Give some sort of satisfying thump and completion to the cycle that would have still annoyed him, but annoyed him less. Instead, Kallus kept waiting for the collision that should have happened.

It never did. Bridger had been at it for half an hour. Kallus couldn't focus on the reports.

He was quietly fuming.

The next time the ball left Bridger's hand and began its soundless trip back, Kallus reached out, snatched it, and — channeling all his frustration — threw the ball has hard as he could at the viewport.

Kallus breathed a sigh of relief when it finally struck, even if it left a sticky mark on the transparisteel he'd have to buff out later. _Finally_.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?" Bridger demanded as he reached out and retrieved the ball where it had fallen with the Force. Kallus glowered.

"To show you what it should have done the very first time you threw it, instead of driving me mad for the last half hour!"

"Hey, you said you 'needed silence' to work." Bridger shrugged. "I stopped talking, didn't I? I even made sure I kept myself amused without making a sound."

"In the most _distracting_ way possible! I've barely been able to focus on my work."

"It's not my fault you can't focus." Bridger reclined back in his seat. "Besides, it's just paperwork."

"They are intelligence reports, and they're more complicated than your little mind clearly could ever comprehend! It takes finesse to tease out the right details, and you and your toy are getting in the way of that process."

"I'm honing my control in the Force." The Jedi tossed the ball again, and hot rage boiled under Kallus' skin as they watched the ball sail through the air, come _scant millimeters_ from touching the viewport in the exact spot Kallus had thrown the ball, before it was summoned back without a sound. "It's important training."

"Then train somewhere else, Bridger," Kallus snapped. "Some of us have real work to do."

"I do have real work to do," Bridger pointed out, unperturbed. "I have to watch you. And I have a first name, you know. It's Ezra. Why do you call everyone else by their first name, but you won't call me or Hera by ours?"

"Because it's an issue of respect," Kallus growled, temper thinning to nothing but a strand. "Zeb, Chopper, and Kanan all have my respect, and they respect me. They are peers. Captain Syndulla is a superior I respect, and so I call her by her rank as a show of that respect."

"Then why aren't you calling me by my rank then?"

"Because obviously," Kallus replied, surging to his feet. "I do not respect you, and you do not respect me. So, _Bridger_ , that is why I do not call you by your first name or by a rank. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be down in the hold."

Kallus stomped off, eager to be away from the _child_ , and just as eager to blow off some steam.

He didn't waste any time once he was in the hold. The space was usually clean and empty, but they were about to make a delivery soon so there wasn't as much space available. Kallus didn't care. There was enough at least to train, to shadow box imagined enemies who looked a lot like Bridger in his mind. To find the heavy bag he used to kick and throttle and perfect his form, all the while imagining it was a certain young Jedi. He hoped it would be enough to release the anger lodged in his chest. Kallus had work to do. He needed to complete those reports before Captain Syndulla returned, but in his angered state he knew he wouldn't be able to give them proper attention.

He needed to calm down, but with _Bridger_ he knew that would be an impossibility. The brat was the same as he always was: a child. A child babysitting _him_.

The thought only fueled the heat in his blood, and he beat at the heavy bag until his legs ached and his hands were sore.

Sweat-soaked and gasping, Kallus sucked in a deep breath as he placed his brow against the material of the heavy bag and closed his eyes. The fire in his chest wasn't as strong any more. It wasn't gone by any stretch of the word, but his body had burned off enough of the agitated energy that he was fairly certain he wouldn't pummel the Jedi in retaliation once he sat back down to work.

Noise above alerted Kallus to the fact that Bridger was watching him from the landing above, and he scowled in response. The heat in his chest attempted to rise again, but it was overwhelmed by the still rapid thud of his heart as he continued to cool down from the workout.

"You know," Bridger said into the silence. "I get that we're always a moment away from battle, but you train a lot. Obsessively."

"I don't train enough," Kallus corrected tightly as he pushed away from the bag and wiped sweat off his brow, irritated the young Jedi was _still_ talking to him. Worse that he was also coming down the rungs to meet him.

"You train more than anyone here. You train more than me and Kanan."

Kallus crossed his arms, body stiff as he narrowed his eyes at the young man. "I have good reason to train."

Bridger stared at him quizzically. "For what? The paperwork you do?"

How Kallus resisted the urge to growl, he had no idea. Though his muscles were tired from the workout, he recovered energy quickly. All he wanted to do now was grab the boy and teach him to show some respect.

Satisfying as that would be, it would also get him nowhere.

"It's to beat Thrawn," he gritted out instead. "When Thrawn found out about me on Lothal, he made an observation that I was limited by my Imperial training." Much as Kallus didn't want to admit it, he told the boy the truth. Just maybe it would make him go away. "He was right. He beat me soundly. I'm hoping that if I diversifying my technique, as he has, the next time he and I fight, I will win."

Kallus didn't know what he expected from Bridger after admitting his reason for the extensive training. He certainly wasn't expecting the words that came out of the young man's mouth.

"Well if that's the reason … I could help you."

Kallus blinked, then snarled at the Jedi.

"Take your jokes and leave." The fire in his chest had flared again. Seemed he wasn't done with the heavy bag after all.

Bridger scowled, but instead of leaving like Kallus prayed he would, he moved closer. "I'm not joking, Kallus. I said I could help you. I meant it."

"I heard you the first time," Kallus scoffed. "But what could you teach me? I've already spoken to Kanan about training me, and between him and Zeb I'm positive there's nothing you could help me with."

"Well, I'm glad to see that your arrogance hasn't taken a hit since you left the Empire," Bridger said with a roll of his eyes as he crossed his arms. "I fight dirty. How many times have I beaten you that way?"

"And how many times have I adapted?" Kallus rebutted. "Your tricks only last once. After that, you're predictable."

"But usually I only need them to last once. That's the point," Bridger argued. "And if fighting Thrawn is what you're preparing for, I can tell you now that fighting dirty is the only way you're going to get an edge on him."

Kallus scoffed again. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I've seen him fight." Bridger shrugged. "Remember? When you sent those assassin droids in to create a diversion for me when I came to extract you? It took a little while for me to find an opening to leave. So I watched Thrawn fight."

"And I'm sure you're well aware that his form is flawless," Kallus quipped, spine straightening, shoulders pulling back as he forced himself to ensure another bout of embarrassment at the memory of having been soundly punished by the Grand Admiral himself. "As intelligent as he is, you'd believe he had little fighting skill. But again, even in physical combat he is brilliant."

"Well, I agree that he's pretty good," Bridger grudgingly admitted. "But I kinda think that's where his weak point is, if you ask me."

Irritation ate at Kallus. Who did this boy think he was, picking apart an incredible strategist like Thrawn? Even so, there was something in Bridger's eyes, and he couldn't help but ask, much as he hated to. "What do you mean?"

"Alright, think about it," Bridger said, and it was a struggle not to do the opposite on reflex. "You're absolutely right. Thrawn's brilliant at tactics and strategy. He's well-trained and professional. He relies on that, and the fact that everyone's going to behave a certain way. He always guesses what'll happen next."

None of this was new to Kallus. Why had he even opened his mouth?

"Please get to the point."

"But on Atollon, Thrawn was blindsided by the Bendu," the young Jedi replied patiently. "Thrawn hadn't taken the Bendu into account, and so he couldn't anticipate what would happen next. It threw a wrench in his perfect plans, and from what I heard he was scrambling for a while before he could reorganize himself and counterattack."

Kallus had heard about this Bendu from the survivors of Atollon. This Force entity which had summoned a storm and provided enough of a distraction — and threat to both sides — to allow Captain Syndulla to take whoever remained and escape. He'd heard from Kanan and Zeb that the Chiss had been taken by surprise. Had even physically responded to the unexpected change, losing his cool composure. But what was Bridger getting at?

"And you're suggesting …?"

"That Thrawn believes everything is going to act a certain way. That's how he's always getting ahead of us, if what you've told us is right. He's studied us, and so when we make a move, it's exactly what he's already expecting."

"If I'd known this was about to turn into a dissertation on the prowess of Grand Admiral Thrawn, I'd have told you to save your breath."

"Thrawn expects you to behave a certain way," the Jedi continued with an impatient huff. "He expects you to play by the rules because you always play by the rules. You're a trained military man who loves order and systems. Thrawn knows that about you and I think that's what he's going to expect every time he fights you. That way he only has to adjust enough to take advantage of the limitations of those rules to beat you."

"And what do you propose I do?" Kallus demanded, uncomfortable that Bridger of all people was picking him apart. "Fight like a heathen?"

"Yes. Do exactly that," Bridger agreed, taking the wind out of Kallus' sails. "Fight dirty and ugly and unpredictably because that's the last thing I'd think Thrawn expects from you. If you want to win against him in a fight, you need to blindside him and take advantage of his confusion."

"What do you think I've been doing then?" Kallus sneered. "Wasting my time?"

"Yeah, actually. Kinda," the young Jedi admitted, and Kallus was moments from seeing red. "I think he expects you to learn from Kanan and Zeb. Diversify your fighting style. If I were him, I'd expect you to learn new fighting styles, but stick with ones that operate within a formal system. Ones that are organized because you're an organized person. I bet if he watched Kanan or Zeb fight enough, he'd be able to pick them apart as easily as he picked apart the Imperial combatives you learned. Then all he'd have to do is apply what he's figured out about them to what you do, and you're right back at square one."

Furious as he was, unease slipped around Kallus' core because what this annoying young Jedi had just said … it was right. Although he was attempting to diversify his fighting platform so the next time he fought Thrawn, he wouldn't be so easy to anticipate, he had chosen forms he'd understood and appreciated for their order and skill. But if he took a step back and looked at them, they were all in their own way … predictable. Unsurprising.

They were exactly what Thrawn would expect him to learn. Because they made the most sense to Kallus, and they were comfortable. And that was a part of Kallus' behavior. The fire in his chest abated as he eyed Bridger.

"So, you're suggesting I learn from you instead," Kallus hazarded.

"I'm suggesting you learn from me _too_ ," Bridger corrected. "I'm a wild element. I always have been. No one really knows what to expect from me the first time. Of course, Thrawn knows that so I doubt _I_ could surprise him in a fight since he'd already be looking for dirty tactics. But I don't think he'd expect it from you."

"But by your own argument, wouldn't he?" Kallus contended. "I agree that he would suspect I'd learn from Kanan and Zeb. Why do you think he wouldn't suspect I'd learn from you as well?"

"For the same reason you haven't considered it," Bridger easily replied. "We're antagonistic to each other. Even when we're working together, we don't really get along. Why would you ever come to me for advice? We can barely stand to be in the same room with each other. That's why I don't think he'd expect it. And that's exactly what you should do if you want to get the upper hand. The way to get to Thrawn is to blindside him, and I can teach you how to do that."

Silence swelled in the hold, thickening with each passing second as Kallus stared at Bridger, letting the Jedi's words and explanation curl and build in his mind. He could not believe it.

"What?" Bridger said, looking at him with growing discomfort.

"You … surprised me," Kallus admitted with great reluctance. "That's a sound argument."

The young man rolled his eyes. "Well, believe it or not, I'm not the same kid I was years ago on Lothal. I have learned. I may not always be as amazing as Hera or Kanan or the others, but I've worked as hard as anyone. I want us to succeed as much as anyone does."

Though Kallus would never admit it, even at blaster point, he did know that about the boy. After all, in a roundabout way, Kallus had watched Bridger grow up these last few years. Had seen the circles the boy ran around the Empire grow more complicated and clever, if sometimes arrogantly foolish. If anyone knew how hard the young Jedi had worked, perhaps in the strangest way it _was_ Kallus, since he'd often been on the receiving end of those hard-won lessons.

"And, whether you think so or not," Bridger said as he held Kallus' eyes. "I do respect you, Kallus. You rebelled from the Empire. You did it to save us, and you could've died trying to do it. And I'm sorry about giving you a hard time. I know it hasn't exactly been easy for you, and me being immature—"

"Childish."

Ezra glared. "—hasn't helped. I just thought it might help you loosen up. You're always so tense. You need to relax sometimes."

"My forms of relaxation differ vastly from yours," Kallus exhaled, even as his mind drifted to the piano in the galley. He still hadn't found a safe opportunity to play it yet, not with everyone keeping an eye on him. "I'm not like the others. If you'd taken a moment to think about it like you've clearly thought about Thrawn, you'd have known I would respond to your antics poorly."

"Well, you haven't exactly helped," Ezra countered. "Snide comments don't make me want to bridge that gap."

Kallus considered that point before grudgingly accepting it.

"Touché."

"How about we just … not do that anymore?" the young Jedi proposed. "I'll be less childish and you'll be less snide and maybe we could work together without wanting to kill each other."

"That's very Jedi of you," Kallus couldn't help but point out, and Bridger snorted.

"Well, I am a Jedi. Anyway, you want a lesson on dirty tactics or not?"

"After your little speech, I'd be a fool not to—"

Blunt force struck Kallus behind his knees and he toppled and collapsed to the ground with a painful thud. Kallus glared at the Jedi who stood over him.

"What—!"

"Lesson one of fighting dirty," Bridger said nonchalantly. "I don't ever care if you're ready or not. As a matter of fact, I hope you aren't. Makes it easier. And lesson two?" The air around him seemed to form up, become solid, and Kallus had the air knocked out of him when he was abruptly thrown and pinned against the wall, his feet dangling. "No rules apply."

Kallus struggled, and though Bridger didn't do anything more than hold him in place with the Force, he was quickly growing frustrated.

"That's not fair!" Kallus argued. "Thrawn won't be able to use the Force. It's unrealistic."

"It's called fighting dirty," Bridger replied. "The goal is to win. You do whatever you have to do to win. Nothing's off limi—"

While Bridger had been talking, Kallus noticed a box not far from his boot. With a heave, he kicked it at the Jedi and sent it flying. It sailed true, and struck Bridger in the face. Immediately the Force holding him up vanished and he dropped hard to his feet.

"Good." Bridger wiped a bit of blood off his lip. Then the box Kallus had hit him with began to lift in the air. "Catch."

It flew forward and Kallus dove to the side. Now all sorts of things were in the air, flying at him, small things, big things, heavy things, sharp things. If Kallus wasn't careful, the Jedi might do some painful damage.

"I doubt," Kallus huffed as he dodged a crate that would have crushed him if he hadn't been fast enough. "The Captain would appreciate you killing me!"

"I didn't think you wanted me to baby you, Kallus," Bridger said seriously. "And no one else would. You know that."

The serious tone in the young man's voice was surprising. Kallus had thought the Jedi would jump at the chance to take potshots at him. Would find it infinitely amusing to have Kallus running around like a harassed tooka. But no. The boy was taking this seriously. It showed in his eyes.

Respect unexpectedly settled in Kallus' chest.

He threw himself at the Jedi and socked him in the face, making Bridger stumble to the side, and soon Kallus tackled him to the ground where the grapple began. Kallus felt success flare as he wrangled the Jedi into a hold – he excelled at ground-based combat – but then scowled in pain. Immediately he released Bridger when the Jedi seized Kallus' thumb, yanked his hand up, and latched on with his teeth.

"Ah! You savage! You bit me!"

"You think I care? You had me pinned. I wanted you to let me go so I _made_ you let me go. Stop obeying the rules," Bridger coached as he squirmed away. "If it's to Thrawn's advantage, I bet he'd take a cheap shot too."

As if to remind him, Kallus' weak knee ached. In retrospect, he should have anticipated the Grand Admiral would attack that knee to take him down. Take the cheap shot, as Bridger put it. It had ensured his own defeat when he'd been revealed as Fulcrum. Kallus looked at the bite mark on his hand and accepted the lesson.

Nothing about this fight was organized or sophisticated. It was backhanded and brutal. Uncomfortable and, at nature, it felt wrong.

Kallus threw himself into it.

It was clear he wasn't good at it. At all. Bridger had lived on the streets of Lothal so long that he'd clearly mastered this method of fighting from a young age, and it showed as he tossed Kallus around. But Kallus was a fast learner. Always had been. He hadn't been an ISB agent for nothing, and he got his licks in too. At one point managed to lock the Jedi into an arm bar.

He should have anticipated that the moment he'd felt Bridger tap out, there would be a counter attack. His jaw still smarted from the kick that had followed.

Now they stood across from each other. Bridger had found a wrench in a box somewhere, and Kallus was ready with a chair he was using as both shield and weapon. Already he was trying to determine just what the Jedi would do with the wrench. Throw it? Use it as a distraction? Aim it at the airlock latch and space them both in an effort to win? All seemed as likely as the next.

"Called it."

Both Kallus and Bridger blinked and turned to see the rest of the crew watching from the landing above. It seemed as if they'd just returned and, judging from the frown on Captain Syndulla's lips, the unsurprised look on Zeb's face, and the amused one on Kanan's, they'd been expecting this. Chopper pumped his metal clamps in the air and warbled loudly that Kallus should use the chair in his hand to slam Bridger across the room.

"Hey!" Bridger shouted as he pointed his wrench at the droid. "Why don't you come down here and I'll show you who's going to be flying across the room."

"What's going on?" Captain Syndulla sighed. "It's a mess down there, and you're both bleeding."

"Sorry, Hera." Bridger grimaced as he shot Kallus a glance, clearly looking for some support. "We were just—"

"Ezra and I were sparring," Kallus replied as he lowered the chair, setting it to the ground. "Apologies for making a mess. It appears we let things get out of hand."

"We'll clean it up," Bridger said quickly, and Kallus caught the surprised look that lingered in his blue eyes at having been called by his first name. Kallus refused to acknowledge it.

"I wouldn't bother," Kanan said. "Hondo's coming soon, and it would probably make him feel right at home."

"Because that's how we want him to feel," Captain Syndulla muttered blandly. "After Hondo leaves, I want that hold spotless. Kallus, are you finished with those reports?"

"He's not," Bridger said, and all the respect Kallus had had for the young Jedi flew out into space and was replaced with the sharp sting of betrayal. His jaw tightened. Here he'd started to believe he and Bridger were on the same page. Clearly, he was wrong. "I kinda distracted him from his work. It's my fault he's not finished."

Or not.

"Ezra," Captain Syndulla groaned, and Kallus spoke up.

"I could have told him to stop and leave me alone. I'm as much to blame as he is for not having them completed." Kallus straightened, his professional bearing back in place. "I'll have them to you in an hour."

Captain Syndulla looked between him and Bridger curiously. They all did, and it was only when Chopper gurgled about not getting to see the smack down and rolled away that everything started moving again. Captain Syndulla cast a glance to her Jedi – who only shrugged and motioned Bridger up to meet him – before leaving for the cockpit.

As Bridger passed him, Kallus caught the young man by the shoulder.

"Thanks." In truth, Kallus wasn't entirely sure what he was thanking the Jedi for, but resolved to leave it open-ended. Bridger could take it how he wished. "I would appreciate more … lessons, the next time we have the opportunity."

"Yeah sure." Bridger grinned. "You should start off by practicing letting go of the rules, like I told you earlier. Otherwise the next time we spar will be an ass-kicking."

Kallus smirked, deciding not to point out that, though there was a huge learning curve, he learned quickly.

"We shall see."

Bridger vanished in pursuit of Kanan. From the landing, Zeb eyed Kallus speculatively as he climbed the rungs up.

"What?"

"Just surprised is all," Zeb replied. "We were all wondering who was going to murder who while we were gone. Now it almost seems like you two are friends."

"That's a bold accusation," Kallus said. "We talked and he impressed me. Much as it pains me to admit it, he's much smarter than he looks."

"He has his moments," Zeb agreed. "Ezra must have really said something if you're saying it."

Kallus shrugged, slicking back his sweat-damp hair and hoping it would stay out of his eyes long enough so he could finish his reports in peace.

"He said enough."

"You even used his name."

Again, Kallus gave the Lasat a shrug.

"He earned it."

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Getting Kallus and Ezra to work together was certainly a ride, but I think they're in a good place now. Turns out Ezra's pretty clever (but we all knew that). Anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! As always, a great place to check for status updates for this story is on my tumblr (which is my username).

Next chapter features a certain Miss Wren. And maybe even a certain piano. Till next time :]


	6. Etched and Detailed

**A/N:** Alright, this one turned out to be a difficult one for me, but here it is! Enjoy!

Also wanted to take a moment to remind everyone that I included a piano on the Ghost.

* * *

 **Etched and Detailed**

Silence filled the _Ghost_ , but it was no ordinary silence. Not this time. This was a silence that Kallus hadn't experienced in quite a while.

This was the silence of an empty ship. Empty, save for him.

It had taken two months, and though he was still on probation, he'd finally earned enough trust from the crew to be left alone for short periods of time. It was a blessed relief. The claustrophobia was easier to deal with, after so long, but to have an entire space to himself was truly a gift. And he understood how valuable that gift was. The crew, _his_ crew, they trusted him. Trusted him not to take the _Ghost_ and turn tail. Trusted him to have their backs. Trusted him not to summon the Empire, now that he was unchaperoned.

The first time it had happened it had been unexpected. Startling, because he'd had fantasies where they'd do just that. Abruptly tell him they had to go away, and he was in charge of the ship. He'd dreamed of it when he was particularly stifled and agitated. Kallus had even made plans as to what he'd do with the freedom and privacy, and suddenly that fantasy had turned real.

All he'd done in that hour of solitude was sit still in the galley and breathe. It was reviving.

The second time, and the rare times after that, he took advantage of the privacy. For months he'd ignored the tall, dusty black shape of the piano in the corner. In truth, he was surprised by the expensive model and design, because it was one he'd seen occasionally on small luxury cruisers. Tall and wide as opposed to long, it was designed for elegance and space saving, even if it sacrificed on a purer quality of sound which defined a proper concert piano. It was also clearly designed for space travel, given the auto-tuning controls and elaborate internal mechanical work which stabilized the instrument as a whole.

When he'd asked about it, why something so decadent, expensive, and out of place was even there at all, Kanan had explained it was Captain Syndulla's decision. A way of balancing the _Ghost_. She swore up and down that the massive weight of the instrument helped the ship fly better. Apparently, several years ago they'd gone on mission to deliver the instrument to a buyer, only to find out the buyer hadn't wanted it anymore. The person he'd intended on gifting it to had left him, and he'd insisted they dispose of it themselves. While the possibility of selling something so valuable had been tempting, Captain Syndulla had kept it.

Judging from the dust and the dying sound the ivory made when he depressed a key, the piano hadn't found a dedicated, loving player in quite some time. If ever. Sometimes Bridger would tap on a key when he was bored during a briefing, or create a dissonant chord that would make Kallus' teeth clench painfully even if it was meant to annoy Zeb instead of him. But that was the full extent he'd seen it used since he'd come aboard.

Kallus had been more than happy to rectify that, if in secret.

Tuning the instrument had taken a long time, despite the helpful add-ons designed to make tuning in constant space travel easier. Years enduring battles with the crew and no upkeep had jarred the auto-tuning. He'd had to fix the system to the best of his ability, then tune manually by ear. In between a smattering of hours, and one unexpected night alone, he'd finally managed to get the instrument sounding clean.

It wasn't perfect, but it was perfect enough to start practicing again.

It was as he'd expected. After years of neglect, he was abysmal. His hands and fingers were stiff and ached in ways they hadn't since childhood, but the very act of summoning up sweet notes and gentle melodies – few that they were – was encouraging. Luckily it became clear he didn't have to start over entirely. Kallus surprised himself with how much he could still recall, and with the practice came growing mastery once again. He was gradually picking up more difficult pieces, constantly challenging himself against the youth he'd been. In his spare time, when the rest of his crew was around and he couldn't practice directly, he'd sit in the turret and practice in the air, like he used to before concerts. He'd spend his time before bed reading sheet music on his datapad. He'd dream of the sound.

Then when he finally had privacy again, it felt as if a flood had been released from within him. He'd put his fingers on the keys, take three centering breaths to calm his mind and prepare … and what came was music racing in a hurried rush. The clandestine practice helped, but the desire for perfection was always forgotten in that first round of wild music. The initial euphoria was heady and pure, sinking right into his chest and filling his soul. When he'd finish, he'd slump with his head tipped back in pleasure. Enjoy that perfect moment of creative flow.

After that glorious moment ended he often remembered where he was and that, if he wanted to make the most of his time before the others returned, he needed to start practicing. After all, he was still sub-par, even if he was getting better. He may never be concert level again, but he could still reach a point where his ears wouldn't ache when he practiced. Usually the practice was challenging, but useful. Always showing progress and building his confidence, allowing himself to push further.

Frustration, however, was getting the best of him this time. Though the first piece he played for the session came out lovely and beautiful given its easier skill level and his previous practice with it, this second one was … difficult. He'd been working on this piece for two weeks, and still he was tumbling over himself in an attempt to make it even half way. His fingers weren't fast enough for the allegro, nor were they limber enough to stretch and retract in time to maintain the melody. Kallus remembered being a boy and flying through this particular piece easily, mastering it before he explored something new.

The distinction tore at him.

Much as Kallus wanted to be content with the lesser skill he was only capable of now, a deep part of him wanted to be there again. Able to play whatever he wanted because skill did not hinder him. To recapture a defining part of his youth before the Empire had dug into him so deeply and convinced him to give it up.

But with the music jumbled and terrible as it was now, his fingers clumsy and refusing to respond appropriately to his command, Kallus was starting to wonder why he was even attempting this at all. He felt as if that part of himself he was trying to take back again now refused to be exhumed, like a punishment for letting it go in the first place. The Agent in him chided him and insisted he give it up since he'd never be as good again, going at this rate. He was a soldier now, not a pianist. With the struggle he was having, he was tempted to agree.

But he continued to sit at the bench. He kept looking at the music on the datapad and _knew_ he could bring it to life, if he kept practicing. All he needed to do was try again.

Kallus took a breath, framing his mindset, before attempting the passage that was being stubborn. He'd go slower this time, work his way up to allegro. Baby steps. And once he mastered it slowly, he'd pick up the pace. He just needed to be patient. This was a piece intended for advanced and expert level players, and he was intermediate at best. Reclaiming a skill with only a handful of hours of practice a week naturally took time.

Slowing down help, but it sounded childish to his ears, beating at his confidence when he still stumbled over the fingerings. He sighed and remembered the way his fingers used to flit across the black and white. Kallus had been so good at this. He'd loved it so much. Hours were spent in his youth before the piano every day, and he'd hardly notice.

Sometimes Kallus' anger at the Empire was just that. Anger. Other times, like now, it was hate, and disappointment at himself for having given his music up in the first place.

His fingers throbbed as he repeated the passage at the same pedantic pace. If he had regular practice he knew they wouldn't ache so much, and he'd progress leaps and bounds. But there was no way he could let the others know. After all, what would they think? The rain of criticism would fall non-stop from Bridger's mouth, and Kallus couldn't bear platitudes for the sake of niceness he was certain the others would give. He knew he wasn't good enough to deserve real praise. At least, he didn't think so, and until he felt he was as good as he once was, he was content to keep the others in the dark.

Though at the rate he was going, he might die of old age before that ever happened.

Disheartened by the thought, Kallus ran a hand through his long hair where it brushed the sides of his cheeks and sighed again before reaching for the datapad and turning it off. He needed a break from this piece. When his fingers grazed the keys again, this time real music came out; one of the first pieces he'd worked hard to relearn, and one of his favorites. It wasn't complicated by any means, but the music was mournful and easy to sympathize with. Ideal for lifting his mood.

Kallus closed his eyes and relaxed into the sound, letting the music express his frustration and disappointment. It curled around him, and he pretended he was young again. Capable again. It was beautiful in his ears. He could almost believe it.

When he stopped and the final haunting note had finally faded away, he was not expecting the soft clapping, nor the kind, "That was incredible!" which came after.

Kallus' heart dropped out of him, adrenaline and alarm clashing in his blood and ripping through the tender peace he'd only just found. He stood quickly, the bench screeching against the floor as the fallboard snapped shut over the keys as if to protect him from what he'd just been doing. Across the way, seated at the dejarik table as if she'd always been there, was Sabine Wren. She sat dressed in her colorful armor, watching him with brown eyes devoid of amusement or scathing judgement.

Kallus was at a loss. What was she doing here? He was supposed to be _alone_!

"Miss Wren," Kallus said in a clipped tone as his heart hammered at having been caught. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd come aboard."

"I came aboard a few hours ago. Kanan told me you were sleeping at the time," Wren said with a shrug. "Hera wanted my opinion about some weapons designs Ezra stumbled over recently, and I was near enough it wasn't a problem to swing by. Zeb didn't tell you?"

Damn Garazeb Orrelios! If he'd known Sabine Wren had been on board, he'd _never_ have sat on the bench, especially not with the piece he'd been working on. She must have heard him practicing, given the walls of the _Ghost_ were thin. Kallus forced himself to respond calmly, even as embarrassment nipped at him.

"I've found Zeb sometimes forgets pertinent information such as this."

Wren chuckled. "Yeah, he's like that."

This wasn't the first time Sabine Wren had returned to the _Ghost_ for a visit, though usually it was when the rest of the crew was around. When she did visit, his and Wren's interactions were cordial and polite, but little else. There hadn't been much need or opportunity to grow past that since she was usually away helping Mandalore, and her visits to the _Ghost_ were brief. They'd converse of course, and they would work together professionally, but they hadn't exchanged many words beyond that before she was gone again.

Come to think of it, this was the first time they'd spoken like this since Skystrike.

An awkward silence began developing between them, and Kallus still wasn't sure what he should do. His pride insisted he leave and not disgrace himself any more than he already had, but his feet wouldn't move. It had been a week since he'd last played. Leaving now … when would he get his next chance?

"I'm sorry," Wren said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I'm guessing you've been trying to hide that you play from everyone. Haven't you?"

Kallus eyed her and tried not to let his embarrassment show. "You've guessed correctly."

An apologetic smile flashed across her face before she gestured to a stool nearer to him. "May I? I'll try not to take up too much of your time. I know the others should be back soon, and I imagine you probably want to get in as much practice as you can."

Tense and surprised as he was, he gave a tight nod before straightening the bench as he settled down to face her when she took the stool. Very well. It appeared she wished to talk. He supposed he should get the humiliation over with.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed," she finally said. "That last piece you played was beautiful and moving. I really felt it."

"Anything would be impressive when preceded by the failed attempts of the one before." The edge of a bite lingered in his response as he negated her praise. When her lips pressed thin and her eyes hardened, Kallus sighed and forced himself to calm down and try again. "I apologize. It's been a long time since I've put on a performance for anyone, accidental as it was. I haven't been praised for my music in just as long. You're forgive me if I'm … defensive."

Wren huffed a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about it. You used to perform?"

"When I was much younger," he admitted slowly as he tried to relax. He never spoke about his past, if he could help it, but he saw no real harm in answer this simple question. "I used to play at concert standard for my age group."

"Why'd you stop?"

Kallus looked down at his hands, remembering long ago when he was a child, his fingers spry and new as they danced across the ivory with rapid precision. Now they were calloused and hard. Only good for makings fists and pulling triggers.

A dark chuckle slipped from Kallus' throat, and he didn't bother to stop it as he said the truth. "I developed a misplaced sense of duty to the Empire, where I eventually came to believe that ruthlessness and prowess in warfare were more valuable than artistic expression."

To his surprise, Wren gave him a chuckle that matched his for satirical amusement. "Yeah. They're good at making their _assets_ believe that."

Kallus eyed the young woman, thinking back to what he knew of Wren's past and the dense reports he'd had to compile for the Empire. She'd escaped an Imperial academy, but not before she'd been used to create weapons which had been turned against her own people. Her personnel reports had been promising. A rising star, which the Empire had been keeping a close eye on.

And here she was now. Practically the antithesis of everything the Empire strove to mold their _assets_ into, with all the bright, eclectic colors, fierce independence, and razor-sharp intelligence filled with boundless potential. A sigh swelled up from the pit of his lungs.

And then there was him.

Wren lifted a brow at him curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kallus replied. "I simply notice that the Empire failed to do to you what it has done to me. Forgive me if I'm somewhat envious."

Now Wren's brows shot up and vanished into her snow and lavender colored hair.

"What do you mean?"

He lifted an eyebrow himself. "Miss Wren, I can hardly think of anyone more independent or rebellious than you. You figured out the sins of the Empire much sooner than I did, and escaped it in time to still retain something of yourself. I was not so intelligent, and now I'm paying for that mistake. I let myself be turned into a cog in the Imperial machine. A weapon. There's hardly anything left now."

Wren gave him a quizzical look, as if he'd missed some great flaw in his argument before nodding to the piano.

"I'd say that's something you have left."

"This is whimsy," Kallus corrected quietly as he looked back at the piano, thinking of his failures and how far he'd fallen. "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing to me when I was watching you play. Honestly, it looked like it was everything to you."

Kallus avoided her eyes, uncomfortable with how accurate her assessment had been, even if he would never say it.

"It's just music. Nothing more," Kallus pressed again.

"Which is why you're so protective of it?" she retorted gently. "If it was 'nothing more', you wouldn't care to hide it, or practice secretly like you do. It matters to you. I know it does."

Kallus chuckled. "Do you, now?"

"I'd say so," Wren replied. "It mattered to me when I left the Empire. My art, I mean. I used to hide it just like you are now. I was protective of it, and hyper critical of complements too."

Kallus stared at the Mandalorian curiously, unable to comprehend a world where Sabine Wren wasn't confident. Least of all in her art. She gave a wry smile.

"Hard to believe, I know. But it's true. I didn't trust anyone, and I wasn't as confident in myself after being used and betrayed like I was. Ketsu and the crew helped, but … well, it took a while, and I remember that. You shouldn't sell yourself short, or hide this part of you. I get that you might not think you're good enough, but I know the real reason why you don't want anyone to hear it."

"And that is?" Kallus asked, playing her game.

"Trust is hard," she replied easily, striking the matter on the proverbial nail. "And when you come from the Empire thinking you're only what it made out of you, something personal, like art … it's kind of sacred."

Kallus looked away, and though he was tempted to refute her claim on reflex, he found he could not bring himself to do it. To betray his music again with a prideful lie. Quietly he said, "Indeed, it is."

Wren's smile was kind, and she looked at one of the many colorful pieces of her art which littered the walls of the _Ghost_ with vibrancy and life.

"You know, we all do it, once we join the crew. Hide something from everyone. That last bit we're afraid to share because it's too personal. But turns out it's kind of hard to hide it here. Have you found out yet that Kanan likes to sing in the fresher at the top of his lungs when he thinks no one's around?"

Kallus snorted. He had actually. The Jedi was so awful, it was amusing. But since everyone else only snickered and pretended not to hear, he did the same. Wren grinned.

"Zeb used to hide the fact that he prays to the Ashla at the start of every week before and after he goes to sleep," she continued. "He used to do it in the _Phantom_. It's only been recently that he's been more open about it."

"That's what he's been doing?" Kallus gaped. All this time he'd thought the Lasat just enjoyed speaking to himself in the dark whenever he went to bed on those days.

"That's what he's doing," Wren agreed. "Ezra used to steal food in the middle of the night and hoard it. It was months before we confronted him and broke him of the habit."

Given Bridger's past history, Kallus couldn't say he was all that surprised.

"And Captain Syndulla?"

The Mandalorian grinned. "Hera's perfect. No dirt to dish out on her. At least, none I've been able to dig up."

Kallus had thought as much, to be frank.

Wren gestured to the piano again. "But what you hide, at least it's pleasant. If you're worried the others are going to judge you for it, don't be. They won't."

Unable to stop himself, Kallus lifted a brow. "Bridger?"

"He'll only tease, if anything," Wren allowed. "But you're really good, Kallus. When you finally tell them—"

"If I tell them."

She ignored him. "—I doubt they'll do anything else besides ask you to keep playing."

Much as he sometimes idly played with the idea of telling the others, there hadn't been any real consideration. Now that he was actively thinking about it, there was some … appeal. Mostly because he wouldn't have to snatch at practice time if everyone knew. He could, in theory, play whenever he wanted. Really grow again as a pianist. But then they _would_ know, and that thought alone made a tight knot develop in his chest.

"Besides," Wren carried on. "It's probably only a matter of time before the others find out anyway, if they don't already know. I mean, you're all living right on top of each other."

That tight knot in his chest twisted uneasily, because he had a sinking feeling the Mandalorian had a point. Careful as he was, he was well aware he wasn't perfect. He might slip one day, and what then?

Wren's eyes were knowing and bright as she gave him an encouraging look. "I know it's hard to trust them, but maybe it's worth it? I thought it was."

Taking a deep, contemplative breath, he looked at the piano and longing pinged in his chest. He could get so much better, play more, if he didn't have to hide. If he … exposed himself like that. Let them in.

Kallus let the breath slowly out, but the knot was still there.

"We shall see."

Her lips pulled into a smirk, and before the silence could descend between them, she leaned forward, interlacing her fingers. The smirk softened and he sensed a sift coming.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Wren asked. "It's a bit personal, and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

He snorted at her. They'd already talked about his music and his trust in the crew. What was she curious about now?

"I can hardly stop you."

"Why'd you leave the Empire?"

Kallus blinked, the question sobering him fast. That was an … unexpected turn of conversation. But personal as it was, in truth, he'd been waiting since he'd joined the crew for someone to ask. Captain Syndulla knew. She'd seen his reports. But Kanan had never asked, which Kallus suspected was for the same reason he didn't ask about the Jedi's own past. Zeb never asked for clarification, just accepted he'd been the catalyst for the change, and was proud that Kallus had switched sides. Even if Bridger had asked, he hardly thought he'd be honest with the boy. They still weren't on the best of terms, even if they weren't at each other's necks anymore.

But Sabine Wren had been the first to ask directly, and oddly enough, he felt inclined to give her an honest answer.

"I'm surprised Zeb didn't tell you."

"He told us that you worked together on that moon over Geonosis," Wren said. "That you talked. But when we found out you were Fulcrum, he was as surprised as the rest of us. And coming from the Empire myself, I know it takes a little more than a few pointed words to make someone leave. Let alone become a spy. So, what happened?"

"It was simple," Kallus replied, turning away from her to face the piano. He lifted the fallboard and stared at the white and black keys. "I merely … looked. Turned the skills of investigation the Empire had given me on itself. I did not like what I found." His gaze dropped as he weathered the uncomfortable caress of shame that slid through his body. "I did not like that I had let myself become so blind."

"So, guilt drove you to rebel?"

Kallus brushed his fingers over the keys but didn't press them. They were smooth, almost soft to his senses. Calming. Encouraging, even as he wanted to deny the truth. Lie.

"In part," he admitted. "I believe you more than anyone would understand what it feels like to believe in the Empire. What it stands for." Kallus let his fingers slip off the keys. "What it feels like to realize how deeply you've been used and lied to."

"Betrayed."

Kallus nodded. "I've done … terrible things, in the name of the Empire. In the name of peace and order. I think I always knew there was something wrong, but it's easier not to think for yourself, or question the hand that feeds you."

"And it's easier when everyone else is doing the same thing. Believing the same thing. Herd mentality," Wren added. "Yeah. I remember."

"Lasan … what I did to Zeb's people. What I allowed to happen there, and to others as well …." Kallus' words dried up, his throat tight as thoughts and memories shoved to the front of his mind. He still remembered the smell of charred flesh. Burning fur. Healthy foliage going up in flame, destroyed in the name of cold order. Back when he'd been in the Empire, those memories hadn't tormented him as much. He'd believed he'd done the right thing, even if it had come with a small side of revenge for what had happened on Onderon. It was as if believing in the Empire had locked those memories away in the back of his mind. Made him feel proud and triumphant of his work in keeping the galaxy safe.

Listening to Zeb, then taking a step back to actually _see_ what he'd done, and why … it had unlocked those memories. Shown him how despicable the Empire was. How atrocious he himself had been.

Kallus had nightmares now. Frequently. He didn't sleep as much as he should, but then that was something of a vindictive comfort. Why should he sleep well, after what he'd done? Why should he find comfort in his dreams, when he did not deserve it? In many ways, the nightmares felt like penance. Penance he willingly submitted to.

A hand appeared on Kallus' shoulder, and when he looked at Wren, he saw the same weathered look in her eyes. The same guilt and pain he constantly hid away.

"I understand."

And that was all she offered. Understanding. No platitudes. No pity or compassion or pride at him having seen the errors of his ways. Just simple understanding. True understanding, between veterans who'd survived the same monster.

Kallus swallowed past the tight pull in his throat before he straightened and nodded. Wren's hand slipped away as she leaned back, but the companionable trust lingered.

"I became a spy to help atone for my actions as an Imperial agent," he finally said. "Then I rebelled because it was the right thing to do."

She gave him a small smile.

"And how are you adjusting?"

Kallus stared at her, surprised by her second unexpected question. It was turning out that this Mandalorian was a secret whirlwind, it seemed. After all this soul-bearing he'd submitted to this far, it was almost surprising to him that it was _now_ his pride rose. He looked away.

"Well enough," Kallus said stoically. "I do what I can to support the crew and the rebellion to the best of my ability."

"Well that's a weak and ambiguous answer if I've ever heard one," Wren said pointedly, lifting an eyebrow. "I know what you're doing, because I did it to. I did it first. I know what it's like not to have someone to talk to. Someone who gets it. Kallus, I get it. How are _you_ adjusting."

Kallus took a long, slow breath as he arranged his thoughts, forcing his stubborn pride aside. If it had been anyone else on the crew, he would have denied there was a difference. What did it matter how _he_ was adjusting, when what mattered was the support he provided?

But Sabine Wren, despite her age, did understand. It was in her maturity, the haunted, pained look that crept into her eyes, and her professionalism and dedication to doing the right thing. To making sure she wasn't used again.

Just like him.

"I … don't know," he finally breathed, letting some of his more personal concerns slip out. "I know this was the correct decision and I don't regret it. I know the limitations on me will lift with time. But sometimes … I feel as if there is no way I can hope to atone for what I've done." His voice quieted and he sighed heavily. "That, despite all the decisions and willingness and change, I will only ever be that weapon the Empire made me into. Nothing more. And that it's only a matter of time before everyone sees that."

"Imposter's syndrome?"

Kallus chuckled darkly. "I'd say so."

The smile she gave him was filled with companionable understanding.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're in the right place. If there's anywhere you can change into something new, it's here." The Mandalorian looked around the galley with soft eyes. "The _Ghost_ and this crew … well, I've always thought of it as a forge of sorts. Broken things come in, and what comes out?" She shrugged. "Who knows? But it's always been something good."

"And if this forge cannot change me?" Kallus wondered.

Wren grinned brightly. "Don't you see you've already changed?"

Kallus stared at her in confusion, at a loss for words. While he gaped like a buffoon, she slowly stood and turned toward the cabins.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to dig like I did. I just … I know what it's like to come from the Empire and have nothing and no one. You're a part of the crew and the rebellion, and I know I'm way younger than you and I've been a thorn in your side for years now—"

"A particularly irksome one, I assure you."

Wren grinned. "But I wanted to be there for you like I wish someone had been there for me. I'm sorry if you feel as if I overstepped my boundaries."

Kallus snorted softly, even as he shook his head.

"I'm sure you'd have broken through them anyway."

"Probably. Also, one last thing. I never got to thank you for getting me, Wedge, and Hobbie out of Skystrike." Wren lifted her chin, her brown eyes alight. "Thanks Kallus."

He continued to stare, again unsure what to say. He'd been thanked by everyone on the crew for becoming a double agent and risking his life. Doing what he could for them on Atollon. But this was the first time he'd been thanked and it had felt so personal. Where the gratitude was palpable. That, coupled with everything she'd said since she'd first heard his music … he was unexpectedly moved.

Kallus ignored the slight tightness in his voice when he spoke. "You're welcome, Sabine."

The Mandalorian gave him a knowing, one-sided grin before she stood and turned for the cabins.

"I'll leave you alone now, let you get back to your music. I'll even make myself scarce and go back to my room. You can pretend I'm even not around, if you want."

Kallus smirked and shook his head at her. After baring himself like he had, it hardly mattered to him if she listened or not. Still, he faced the piano while he waved her away with a hand.

"Go on then. Be gone." He looked over his shoulder. "Though please let me know if you'd like me to stop."

Wren rolled her eyes at him, but there was a pleased smirk on her lips. "Just play, Kallus."

For a few moments, Kallus sat in the quiet after her departure, thinking about everything she had said and the expected trust he'd shown her. He'd been with the crew for months now, and had he opened up to them as much as he had with just one conversation with Wren? No.

But shouldn't he? They trusted him enough to leave him alone now. Maybe he should start showing them some trust as well? And … really. What was the worst that could happen? Perhaps some ridicule, but at least he could play openly then, despite how they took it.

Kallus lightly caressed the black and white ivory before him, then pressed the keys with care, slowly calling forth an old sonata from his youth. As he did, he let his mind wander. Play with the idea of sharing and trust as he sank into his music and was swept away.

* * *

Kallus pressed his fingers into his brow as the rest of the crew grinned at him with varying levels of approval and amusement from where he sat at the piano bench. He'd been so caught up in the music and his thoughts that, by the time he looked up again, he'd had a full audience.

Complete with thunderous applause.

"Did everyone know I played?" Kallus demanded.

"Of course we did," Bridger said. "Why do you think I've been pressing random keys for the last month? Before you got here I forget we even had that thing."

Kallus glowered.

"Now that you know we all knew, I'll have to insist you play more," Captain Syndulla said, her smile kind and uplifting. "It's nice to know it's getting proper attention, and by someone who can actually play it. If you did play for us, it'll be better than anything we've had over the comms in years."

"I thought you liked what I put on the comms," Kanan said, and Captain Syndulla shrugged.

"Only because there was no alternative."

"Do you take requests?" Bridger asked, snatching up the datapad that had displayed Kallus' music. A moment later it was shoved back in his face. "Can you play this?"

" _This_ is little more than a cacophonous collection of notes thrown together with no sensible rhythm," Kallus bit out, shoving the music away. "If I play anything, it's the classics!"

"Well, what about this one?"

Zeb snickered. "Kid, I doubt that's what Kallus has in mind when he says 'classics'."

"It most certainly is not."

Bridger tried again with another piece, and Kallus rolled his eyes. Wren chuckled from the other side of the room with the rest of them, and he resisted the contagious sound of it as the tight knot in his chest at having been finally found out loosened before vanishing entirely.

* * *

 **A/N:** So what did you all think? The idea of Kallus playing piano has been a head-canon of mine for a while now, and I hope you liked the direction I took with it, and with Sabine. It was certainly a … journey to write, but I hope it was enjoyable :]

I have a challenge for you fanartists. I would love to see pictures of Kallus playing space-piano. Like. I'd adore that. Could you all maybe make pictures for me, if you're inspired/have the time? I've had it in my head for a while now, and I'm not a great visual artist myself. I don't know if it's presumptuous of me to request (and if so, apologies), but I'd be over the moon for pictures like that. No pressure to anyone, just throwing it out there.

Now I bet you're curious about who's next, since the series isn't quite done yet. It's Zeb. For those of you who wondered if the first chapter was also Zeb's chapter, nope. That was Kallus' own chapter. Next one's a nice chat with Zeb. There might be booze involved.

Anyway, a great place to keep up with me and my stories is on my tumblr. Till next time!


	7. Polished and Appraised

**Polished and Appraised**

It was a rare day when the crew had a little time to relax, but when they did, Kallus was always impressed when Captain Syndulla located the perfect place to do it. It was as if she had a database in her mind specifically tailored to beautiful, relaxing places located throughout the Outer Rim. Places meant for peace and serenity. Spots where they could almost pretend, for a short time, that nothing in the galaxy was wrong.

This, by far, was one of the most tranquil places Kallus had ever had the pleasure of visiting in his life.

It was a distant moon cast in a constant state of twilight, which lightened or darkened to satisfy the night and day. Fields of gentle grasslands stretched out as far as the eye could see, reminding him of Lothal and its natural beauty. The air smelled warm, fresh, and inviting. The sky was clear and beautiful, and they had several hours here to relax and recover before they needed to head back to Yavin.

No one was taking this lull in work for granted. Captain Syndulla and Kanan had gone for a long walk together over an hour ago and, if Kallus had to guess, they wouldn't be back for hours yet. Bridger had gone off with Chopper some distance away to lay in the grass, gazing at the sky, quiet and solitary — an uncommon state for the young Jedi.

Kallus himself had gone for a walk alone along the ridge before returning to the _Ghost_ , absorbing the world and letting his mind wander as he took in the breathtaking amount of space. He could get lost out here, and it would be a pleasure. A safe harbor, lost amidst the vast galaxy of stars and planets and space above.

He wished he felt as if he deserved this tranquil reprieve, but today of all days … he did not.

Kallus sat on the ramp now, listening the sound of the native insect life fill the air with rolling waves of sound. They rose and fell, never-ending as if the moon itself was taking slow, measured breaths. He could almost breathe with it. The twilight was darkening into its night, and in the sky above he could make out more stars than he had half an hour earlier. They seemed so far away. He _felt_ so far away.

Muted vibrations of plodding footsteps advancing behind him caught Kallus's attention, and curiously he peered over his shoulder. Zeb was standing in the hold, and he gave Kallus a small smirk.

There was a bottle in his hand, along with two cups.

"You care for a drink?"

Surprised, Kallus stared at the Lasat. Why … why was he even talking to him? Surely Zeb knew what today was. He had to. The Lasat had dodged him since they'd landed, and Kallus had respected the non-verbal cue, endeavoring to avoid him to make it easier on the both of them.

And yet here Zeb was, asking if Kallus wanted to drink with him.

"Well?"

"It's certainly been a while since I've had anything stiff," Kallus muttered slowly, uncomfortable, but willing to see where this might lead. He climbed to his feet.

"Come on, then. I bet it's nice up top."

Kallus followed Zeb up to the top of the _Ghost,_ and indeed the view was exceptional. The breeze was gentle and warm, and the hull of the _Ghost_ cool and refreshing in comparison. As they sat on one of the ship's edges, feet dangling, Zeb handed him a cup and poured a finger's worth before doing the same for himself.

"What is this?" Kallus asked after he took a sip, amazed by the light flavor and smooth burn. Warmth flooded his stomach, flaring out to the rest of him. Whatever it was, it was of excellent quality.

"Whiskey," Zeb replied, staring at the amber liquid. "A specialty of Lasan. You should be careful drinking it. It's made for my people, and we're much bigger. Higher metabolisms."

"I can hold my drink just fine," Kallus muttered as he looked at the alcohol again, the warmth in his body dampening along with his mood.

Lasat whiskey. He doubted he'd drink any more than the small mouthful he had, now. Since the fall of Lasan, luxury items like this were almost priceless. He'd even looked himself, and he'd never been able to find anything.

Zeb might have the very last bottle.

Kallus forced his face blank, even when he felt the fine muscles there attempt to pull into a grimace. What was Zeb doing, giving him this? Why was he sharing it with him, when he'd had a large hand in ensuring something so fine would never exist again?

Zeb eyed him after a sip from his own cup before he cradled it between his massive hands. Then he looked out toward the glowing horizon.

"I take it you know what today is."

Cool discomfort grew in Kallus's stomach, making it squeeze, but he breathed through it. It was only right that he respond. Zeb deserved as much, and though Kallus wanted to be a coward, he wasn't one.

"I do," he admitted, his voice tight. Though he'd promised himself he wouldn't, Kallus took another sip of the whiskey and relished the burn as it seared down his throat and helped to make this just a little easier. "It's not a day I let myself forget. Not anymore."

Zeb said nothing, and the rolling sounds of the grasslands around them felt loud now. Almost grating when only five minutes ago, it had been soothing. Kallus sighed and dropped his gaze.

Today was the day Lasan fell. This was the day Kallus had helped ensure an entire species in the galaxy had been eradicated.

The alcohol in his stomach started to sour.

"What is this about, Garazeb?" Kallus asked quietly as he stared into the amber contents of his cup. "Though I deserve it, I never took you for cruel."

"There's nothing cruel about this, Kallus," Zeb countered just as quietly. "This is a day of remembrance, for both of us. Nothing more. Best to do it together over decent whiskey."

"You didn't have to do it at all," Kallus pointed out.

"I didn't, but I am." Zeb nodded to the whiskey. "This stuff isn't meant to be taken alone. Not socially or traditionally. It's meant to be shared."

Kallus chuckled, and it sounded pained and terrible. "And you'd share it with one of the men who destroyed your world? Your people?"

"I'm sharing it with one of the men who's repenting over it."

What harsh words Kallus had prepared in his mouth died as he stared at the Lasat. Zeb didn't meet his gaze. The Lasat only swirled the whiskey in his cup for a moment before finishing it off. Then he set the cup down and leaned back on an arm, his green eyes distant.

The next words out of Zeb's mouth were unexpected and startling.

"Let it go, Kallus."

And just like that, the full force of the self-loathing he'd tried to keep back all day rose to the front of his mind and curled around his heart. Kallus set his cup next to Zeb's and shook his head. The edges of his hair where they brushed his cheeks felt harsh and rough, like a just punishment.

"No."

"Why not?"

Kallus took a deep breath and glared at his hands. But the anger that usually stung his chest was now dulled slightly, with the whiskey in his blood. The glare wasn't that strong, and he wished it was.

"You know why."

"Do I?" Zeb asked with a lift of his brow. "I could guess, but I might be wrong."

"Now I know you're being cruel," Kallus muttered with a cold chuckle. "Fine. I'll say it. I won't let it go because I am guilty of a heinous sin. I helped destroy your people, Garazeb Orrelios. I helped the Empire invade and claim Lasan. I am responsible for so … so many deaths."

The fire that had momentarily ignited enough for him to say those true, horrible, painful things … it died out. Kallus sighed, and there was nothing but hollowness and dejection left. His eyes dropped again as he continued to tell the truth.

"I won't let it go because I don't deserve to let it go, Zeb. I'm guilty. You of all people know that."

The rolling call of the insect life swelled up around them again, and it was a while before Zeb's voice gently broke it.

"I'm just as guilty as you are," Zeb said as he looked out to the horizon again. "I feel like it, anyway. I couldn't save my people. I couldn't protect the royal family. It was my job, and I failed just as bad as you did."

"You were one Lasat," Kallus scoffed. "What could one Lasat have done to stop the Empire?"

"If you'd realized the lengths the Empire was going to go to on Lasan, could _you_ have stopped what happened?" Zeb asked. "Did Agent Kallus have the power to stop the invasion of Lasan, or the extinction of the Lasats?"

Kallus opened his mouth to make an affirmative claim, just to spite himself, but the lie wouldn't come out. Even if he had come to his senses back then, he could have done everything in his power to stop the Empire, and it wouldn't have been even close to enough. The Emperor had had his eyes set on Lasan.

And there had been no fighting that.

"We're both guilty, but it wasn't completely our faults," Zeb carried on. "You were doing what you were ordered to do. And I did the best I could. It wasn't enough for either of us, but we can't carry all the blame."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that your race is all but extinct," Kallus bit out. "That you're practically the last of your kind. _I_ did that."

"I'm not, actually. We're not gone," Zeb said, and there was a calm smile on his face as the Lasat turned his green eyes upward, toward the sky. "The Lasats. We still exist. There are still so many of us, you have no idea."

A satirical laugh slipped from Kallus's chest, along with a whisper of anger within his heart.

"You don't have to lie, Garazeb. They're all gone. I _know_." Kallus clenched his hands in his lap, and he hated himself. He hated the Empire. He hated that Zeb of all people was trying to make him feel better. "Stop trying to exonerate me of my sins."

Zeb huffed a hard laugh. "That's the last thing I'm trying to do. Besides, why would I dig in when you're clearly doing that well enough yourself? I doubt there's anything I could say or do that would make you feel worse than anything you could come up with on your own."

"Then what are you _trying_ to do?" Kallus growled. "I didn't take you for a liar either."

"Good. Because I'm not," Zeb replied, unperturbed by the bite in Kallus's voice. "When the Empire attacked Lasan, they didn't get all of us. For a long time, I thought they did. But they didn't."

"I'm sure," Kallus said bitterly. "There's entire systems of Lasats hiding away in secret. I'm _sure_."

Zeb abruptly grinned, and Kallus's heart dropped.

"Well, not entire systems. But there is a planet full of us, and they're alive and well, and out of the Empire's reach." Zeb's green eyes held his, and there was amusement there. "Believe it or not, you helped me find them a while ago, back when you were still an Imp."

Confusion raced through Kallus's mind as he tried to think back. When could he have _possibly_ helped Zeb find a planet full of surviving Lasats?

"Remember when you lost us in that imploded star cluster?"

Kallus's brows furrowed as he stared at the Lasat in disbelief. "There's a planet full of Lasats in _there_? You must be joking."

"Not in the cluster, of course," Zeb snorted. "But beyond that. I'm not lying to you, Kallus. My race, we're still alive. We're still strong, even after what the Empire did on Lasan."

Again, Kallus wanted to call Zeb a liar. That _couldn_ _'t_ be true. It _could not_.

But as he thought about it … he couldn't help but notice there was some evidence to support this claim. That smuggler, Onaka, had mentioned he'd been transporting Lasats that day. It made sense back then why Zeb and the crew had worked so hard to liberate them. He'd expected that, after that miraculous escape into the cluster, they'd left those freed Lasats somewhere and that had been that.

Yet, not long after, when he and Zeb had been trapped together on Bahryn, instead of finding Zeb furious and vindictive like he should have been, he wasn't.

It had always struck him as strange that, somehow, Zeb had managed to work past his hatred for him and what he'd done. To 'move on' as Zeb had put it, so they could work together and survive. If there _were_ more Lasats, if the Empire hadn't killed them all off and Zeb had found them … then it made sense now, how he'd managed to move past the horrors of Lasan.

And why the Lasat no longer wanted to kill him.

"You're serious," Kallus breathed, something around his heart tightening and unwinding, tightening and unwinding over and over again as he tried to figure out how to process this new information. "They … you're … they're not all gone?"

"Nope," Zeb said with pride, chin lifting and back straightening for a moment. "Turns out the Empire couldn't get rid of us that easily."

Despite his confusion, what soared through Kallus's body was nothing more than chilly, unspeakable relief. They'd survived. He hadn't managed to kill all of them off, in the end. They'd _survived._

 _Thank the stars._

But even with the immense relief rolling over him, it didn't lessen the guilt.

"It still doesn't excuse what I've done, or my part in what happened," Kallus whispered. "I still did nothing to stop it. I was still vengeful after what happened on Onderon, and I let it color my actions."

Zeb was silent for a long moment as he stared into his cup and the amber liquid there before he gave a large sigh.

"You're right," Zeb admitted. "It doesn't excuse you for what you did. Just like it doesn't excuse me for what I couldn't do to save my people either. But it gives us a reason to stop holding onto the past, and move on. Let go. Neither of us is ever going to be completely guilt free for what happened on Lasan. I don't think either of us even wants to be, deep down." The Lasat shrugged a massive shoulder. "But we can at least move forward."

"I am moving forward," Kallus commented quietly as he looked away from the Lasat again and out into the fields. "What do you think I've been doing? I'm doing what I can to become something new. Atone for who I was."

"You've moved on from the Empire, that's true," Zeb agreed. "But you haven't let yourself move on from your past and everything you've done. You probably think you've been hiding it pretty well, but I know you're having nightmares, Kallus."

"Everyone has nightmares," Kallus retorted, defensive that the conversation was taking a more personal route. "I hear yours as well."

"True enough," Zeb admitted. "But I know what yours are about. You cry out in your sleep before you wake up. I know you wish you'd done more."

The weight of that one statement hung in the air, dense and true and painful because _yes._ Yes, he did wish he'd done more. He did wish he'd had half a brain to see what was going on before his own eyes, see the pain he was inflicting for almost no reason except brain washing and misplaced patriotism. He hated himself for not seeing the evil he'd been a part of.

He hated himself for so much of it. The guilt ate him alive every day. Zeb shifted beside him, and Kallus gave him a tired glance.

"Kallus. How are you supposed to let yourself become something new, if you keep clinging to the past?"

"Are you suggesting I should just forget about it all?" Kallus muttered. "You were the last I'd thought would suggest that."

"Don't put words in my mouth," Zeb growled in retaliation. "What I'm saying, is learn from it and remember it, but move on. You're not the same man you were back then. Not anymore."

Kallus didn't say anything. His pride and self-loathing made him cling to his guilt, but he also knew rationally that Zeb had a point. He wasn't the same man. He _was_ different. But how could that possibly matter. Why should it?

"Forgive yourself, Kallus," Zeb said as he leaned back on his arm again. "Everyone else has. It's high time you do to."

"I doubt everyone's forgiven me," Kallus said. "How could I possibly forgive myself?"

Zeb lifted a purple eyebrow before giving Kallus a small smirk. "All the one's that matter, we've forgiven you for what you've done. Even me. We've been hoping that would be enough."

"You've all forgiven me because I switched sides and haven't betrayed you since," Kallus almost snapped. His tone was nothing but bite and aggression. "You've all accepted me only because I helped warn you and saved your lives on Atollon."

A large, clawed hand clamped down on Kallus's shoulder, breaking him from the haze of his self-hate through nothing but tactile touch and the small worry – or perhaps the faintest of hopes – that Zeb might push him off the edge of the ship to the ground below.

"We've forgiven you, Kallus, but it's not because of what you did for us."

Kallus lifted an eyebrow pointedly, and Zeb huffed.

"Fine. Partly because of that. But the main reason we've forgiven you is because we can see how dedicated you are now to doing the right thing. You're not that ISB agent anymore, and we can see it. You're a good man, trying to do everything in your power to make up for all the wrongs you've done." That hand on Kallus's shoulder squeezed. It bordered on painful, but Kallus hardly noticed. "That's worthy of forgiveness."

"But is it enough?" The question punched through him, his throat so agonizingly tight that it came out as a harsh whisper. "How … how could that _possibly_ be enough?"

"How isn't it?" Zeb countered. "What? You have a detonator to kill Emperor Palatine in your pocket, and you're just holding out? You're already doing everything you can, Kallus. What more could you do?"

"Never have committed my atrocities in the first place," Kallus said between gritted teeth. "To have stood up long before now."

"That's in the past," Zeb said firmly. "You can't go back there. No one can, much as we all want to."

In the distance, the small forms of Bridger and Chopper moved, catching Kallus's attention. The boy reminded him of Kanan and Captain Syndulla. Of Miss Wren, out with her family. It struck him that, beyond the kind smiles and devoted trust, there were so many stories here in this small crew alone. Painful stories. Stories of war, betrayal, genocide, death, and loss. Of course there were. Kallus had no doubt that any of one of them could think of a time they wished they could go back to; stop something terrible in their pasts from happening.

Instead, they moved forward, striving to be better than the past and the pains and the shames which had shaped them all.

Just like he was.

Zeb's hand slipped off Kallus's shoulder, only to reach for both their cups. The sound and smell of the whiskey being poured again nudged Kallus's senses, and though he felt no desire to drink, he still took the cup in his hand when Zeb offered it to him. He still listened to the Lasat speak.

"The past is what it is. But today we can remember it, and drink to that memory. Maybe even find some strength together to let it go."

Kallus's throat constricted, but he gave a small nod. He stared at the small cup of Lasat whiskey before finding the strength to lift it.

"To Lasan, and the hope for a better future," he said in a strangled voice.

Zeb hummed gently. "To Lasan, and peace for those who have fallen. And those who still stand."

They drank and the heat of the alcohol swept through Kallus's body as he thought about everything Zeb had said. Too much had been said, and under normal circumstances he knew he'd have mulled over it relentlessly. Found logical ways to avoid letting himself feel any sort of relief or balm for any of his past actions.

But as the whiskey seeped into him, he found those logical thoughts were slipping away, allowing the subtle emotions which curled around him to emerge and thicken. Emotions he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Didn't think he deserved to acknowledge.

Once his cup was empty, the emotions swelling through his body and mixing with his formless thoughts, he set it down and reclined against the hull of the _Ghost_ , even as the Lasat poured a little more for himself _._

Kallus covered his eyes with an arm as he listened to Zeb breathe next to him. Listened to the wind whisper through the long grasses of the grasslands around them, the native insects chirping gently as the permanent twilight continued to darken the sky. The alcohol warmed his blood, heated his skin against the evening air. It quieted his thoughts.

Like this, he found there was so much peace around him. And for the first time since he'd rebelled – maybe since … ever – here next to this Lasat, the peace sank just a little deeper. Sank through his skin, into his heart, and though he didn't think he deserved it, he found something there all the same.

The smallest touch of forgiveness. Forgiveness for himself.

Reclined as he was, moisture gathered, then rolled along the sides of Kallus's face to vanish easily into his hair. The trails cooled, then warmed and cooled again, but silent as he was, he could almost pretend they didn't exist at all. They were not tears, after all. Kallus did not cry.

And even if he did, he didn't think the quiet Lasat next to him would ever say a word. Not to anyone.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh man, I had a few of you doubting me the moment I mentioned booze in the note last chapter. How did I do? Everything about this particular series has been about the slow unwinding of Kallus, and I hope that this chapter has upheld that and been as satisfying as the others have. I'd love to know what you thought :] Also, I'm aware that Kallus now has a first name. Don't worry! I've got plans in the works for that. It couldn't have come at a better time, honestly.

So, there are only two more chapters left: the test and the conclusion. I think it's time to see if Kallus has learned anything in his time with the Ghost crew. Should make for an exciting next chapter.

A great place to follow me and my stories on my tumblr (just search for my username). Till next time!


	8. Field Test

**A/N:** Took me a while to write this chapter (a lot's been going on and finding time to wiggle this into the lineup was a task), but I hope you'll like what I've got and you'll think the wait was worth it :]

So Kallus has learned a lot from the crew. Let's see if he's learned the most important thing.

* * *

 **Field Test**

Kallus should have known it would be the week before his probation ended, that everything would fall apart.

The _Ghost_ crew had been given a simple mission. At least, he'd thought it mind-numbingly simple. They would scavenge an old Republic base which had been recently found, searching for weapons and supplies that could be repurposed for the rebellion and its needs. Given the organization's growth and ambitious objectives, missions like these were often given higher priority, but no one had thought it would be difficult.

It should have gone perfectly. All hands had been called for this mission, since the base was expected to contain a great deal of cargo. AP-5 and the lucky addition of Miss Wren, who'd been visiting, came as well. The _Ghost_ was crowded with the additions, but it was also full of life and energy which Kallus couldn't help but be infected with, even begrudgingly. Once they'd arrived on sight, they'd split into two ground teams and a command team.

Kanan and Hera would stay behind on the _Ghost,_ monitoring progress and keeping an eye out for any Imperials. Miss Wren and Ezra would lead the teams, each taking either Kallus or Zeb for support, along with a droid.

Kallus was assigned Miss Wren and AP-5 and, as everyone except Bridger had expected, their team accomplished their half of the mission in record time, with efficiency and cohesion. In comparison to the riot which hallmarked Bridger's team – clear enough on the comm-channel for _everyone_ to hear – his, Wren's, and AP-5's team had been the definition of professionalism. They, at least, hadn't accidentally upended a crate filled with enough food rations that AP-5 had to suggest using the entrenching tool he'd issued Kallus to help shovel the mess. Captain Syndulla had agreed it was an efficient way to clean it up for transport.

When the comm-chatter abruptly ended, however, and the alert signal had been sent to their team from Kanan, the situation stopped being simple and grew much more complicated.

Imperials had found them, and through his, Wren's, and AP-5's combined efforts, they were able to slice into old security feeds to find a small group of Imperials had somehow apprehended the others. Both Jedi were disarmed and Captain Syndulla glared beside them defiantly where she was bound. Chopper had a restraining bolt fastened to him, and Zeb was prone on the floor after either being stunned or taking blaster fire – it was hard to tell from this position. The small squad of Imperials had them on their knees and looked about ready to transport them.

If they didn't shoot first.

"We've got to do something," Wren said as she studied the monitor with hard eyes. "It looks like Kanan and Ezra's lightsabers were taken. They're over there, near that trooper guarding the cargo. Looks like Hera and Zeb's weapons are there too."

"We'll never reach them," AP-5 muttered as he provided his analysis. "The chances of us making it that far without the hostages being terminated are less than five percent."

"We'll have to thin them down," Kallus said. Luck was on their side that it wasn't an entire platoon's worth of stormtroopers at the officers' – a lieutenant and an ensign – disposal. It was only a small squad of stormtroopers, but even with so few, they'd managed to capture and disarm the rest of the crew. Whether it had been luck on the side of the Imperials, or foolishness for the crew, Kallus was going to err on the side of caution.

The lieutenant appeared to be the one in charge, the ensign and three stormtroopers reacting to his commands where they stood guard over the specters. Kallus had never seen these officers before, so he couldn't use the usual counter-strategy he'd become adept at providing. But judging from the lieutenant's body language, and the reactions of those around him, as well as the reluctance of the _Ghost_ crew to so much as twitch, it seemed reasonable they were dealing with a familiar 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality.

Not a favorable complication for a rescue mission.

"I might be able to blast those fuel cells back there." Wren pointed to the canisters on the screen. "That could cause a distraction long enough to get their attention away from the others. Wouldn't surprise me if Ezra's already got a way out of his binders."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," agreed Kallus before he shook his head. "A good idea, but I doubt it will work to our favor." He pointed at the stormtroopers closest to the bound specters. "They'll move too fast for either of us to stop them, and are likely to open fire on the crew. We need something else. A different diversion so we can get close. If we're lucky, close enough to retake the weapons our crew have lost."

"Diversions are a particular specialty of mine," Wren said as she tapped her pouch where her grenades were always ready and waiting. "But I don't think that's what you have in mind."

"Your right. This situation calls for discretion," Kallus agreed. "Any other time I'd like your plan, but this is an old base, and those men don't appear to have a problem pulling their triggers, if Zeb's condition is anything to go by."

"What do you have in mind, Kallus?" Wren asked, and Kallus looked between the Mandalorian and the supply droid as he considered their options. A plan formed, not one he liked, but one he thought would improve their odds. Hopefully enough to work.

One which, to his unease, would make him play his trump card.

Kallus took a deep breath, then he pressed his hair back, back in the old way he used to wear it when he was still an Imperial. To his surprise it smoothed back obediently, and though Kallus could feel how long it was in the back where the ends prickled his neck, a quick glance at a reflection told him in the front, at least, he looked like he always had before rebelling. Next, Kallus straightened his spine. Pulled his shoulders back. Lifted his chin.

Kallus held the word 'Empire' and all his memories of being an Imperial in his mind just right, and the man in his reflection an instant before — rough and jagged and practically unrecognizable — had vanished. In his place was the man Kallus had left behind. The Imperial.

Agent Kallus.

Kallus he studied himself. It was sickening how easy it was to slip back into this skin.

But he had to, and now that he was shifting back into the part, he snagged Wren's arm and turned her around, snapping binders on her wrists though he didn't lock them. Her brow furrowed but she didn't struggle, and he smirked at her.

"My plan, Sabine, is to take you hostage while AP-5 secures the weapons. Then, while I have the Imperials distracted, you and your crew are going to do what you do best."

* * *

"I think we've cleared the area," the lieutenant boasted as he stood in front of the _Ghost_ crew, who were detained and under threat of blaster fire. "There doesn't appear to be any more rebels around."

"You're mistaken, Lieutenant," Kallus said as he shoved Wren forward, hand wrapped around her upper arm to prevent her from accidentally falling over. "You missed one."

The sound of blasters readjusting to lock on him made Kallus pause, and he jerked Wren to a stop, putting her between them even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. She sneered at him, and if he hadn't known better he'd have thought the only thing in the world she wanted was to rip his guts out and feed them to a rancor.

The Mandalorian gave a convincing performance, because even though the blasters were still trained on him, he caught the way the soldiers gave slight glances toward one another. Checking each other to see if they had seen the same thing.

That was good. More experienced soldiers wouldn't have twitched. These were younger soldiers and a bit easier to sway.

Now it was time to find out if the same was true for the lieutenant and the ensign.

"Who are you?" the lieutenant demanded as he leveled his blaster at Kallus. "What's going on?"

Kallus kept his voice cool as he ignored the probing looks of the _Ghost_ crew. "I believe it's obvious. I'm helping you. I'm one of you, after all."

"Fracking traitor," Wren snarled, and Kallus smirked. The ensign cast a searching glance to the lieutenant, who studied Kallus shrewdly.

"You don't look like one of us," he shot back before nodding to one of the stormtroopers. "Take her and get him into a pair of binders."

"You won't want to do that, Lieutenant," Kallus said. "You can take her off my hands, gladly. Getting her restrained was difficult and I'd advise you to treat her with utmost caution. She's … tenacious. But you might want to listen to me before you do anything hasty."

"Kallus, what are you doing?" Bridger hissed, his eyes hard as Kallus shoved Wren into the waiting trooper. Kallus rolled his eyes at the young Jedi, embracing his role.

"What do you think, Bridger?" he replied. "I'm betraying you."

"What?" said Captain Syndulla's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

Kallus snorted and gave her a condescending smirk. "You didn't actually believe I'd do all of this, suffer so much _humiliation_ because I wanted to rebel, did you? Apologies, Captain, but I was never on your side."

"That's not true," Zeb grunted in pain from where he lay on the ground. "The Empire's not you, Kallus. You can't have done all of this for nothing!"

Now that Kallus was closer, he could see the Lasat had taken a bolt to the shoulder, and that it was bleeding profusely despite the pressure Zeb kept on it. He needed medical attention. This needed to end soon, for Zeb's sake.

"I have and I did," Kallus replied, his heart tightening at the collective glares of betrayal the _Ghost_ crew were giving him. Like they _believed_ this.

It had to be an act. They had to _know_ he wouldn't. That he had changed. That this was all it was: an act.

But it was difficult to say, when they looked at him like that, and he forced himself to ignore the doubt growing in his chest. Time would tell. He had a job to do right now.

Facing away from them and keeping his face composed and blank to the cold emotions growing in his chest, he waited. The lieutenant eyed him after watching the interaction, and Kallus lifted a brow.

"Fine," the lieutenant scoffed. "Amuse me, sleemo. But you better be fast. It's been a long day, and if you think you're going to be wasting it, I'll make you pay for it." The lieutenant aligned his blaster with Kallus's skull, as if his intentions weren't clear enough.

Kallus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the posturing. Instead, he straightened into his Imperial bearing like slipping on an old coat. Kallus looked down his nose at the young officer.

"I am ISB agent 021. Agent Kallus," Kallus recited with false pride which threatened to make his stomach roll. He didn't want to be that man anymore, but he had to sell this. Kallus let himself feel the phantom curl of blind arrogance he'd held in such high esteem when he'd been an Imperial. "I've been under deep cover on mission to infiltrate the Rebel Alliance, and gather intelligence on behalf of the Empire. My mission has been going on for some time now."

The Imperial scoffed again, skeptical. "I'm sure. If you've been undercover," he reasoned, "why are you blowing it now?"

"Because I'm nearing the end of my mission anyway," Kallus replied blandly with a one-shouldered shrug. "As it was, I'd been planning on eliminating these rebels soon anyway. Your presence here is good timing, and the fact that you've apprehended the crew already is even better. You've certainly made my job easier."

The lieutenant glared at him incredulously, reluctant to buy into the fabrication. But Kallus could see the faintest flicker of doubt in his eyes when faced with Kallus's unwavering confidence.

Good.

"Yeah, forgive me if I'm not buying this, _Agent_ " the lieutenant suddenly barked. "You want me to believe you? Give me your code cylinder and the name of the person you report to. Once you're cleared, then we'll see about all this."

"As you wish," Kallus replied, moving into the next stage of his act. "My cylinder is in my boot. I can get it, but you are welcome to retrieve it yourself."

Slitted eyes were answer enough for Kallus. The muzzle of the lieutenant's blaster slipped down to target Kallus's chest. "You try anything funny, and I won't just kill you. I'll kill them too."

Kallus shrugged, gambling and hoping this wouldn't backfire in his, or the crew's, face. "By all means. It's been hell being undercover with them. If you think I care about their wellbeing after everything they've put me through, you're sorely mistaken."

With aching care, he reached into his boot and retrieved his old code cylinder from where he kept it. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to play this card – well, at least not this soon – but it didn't matter now. He was playing it.

He held it up and, though the lieutenant glared at it like it was something offensive, he snatched it from his fingers.

"And just _who_ am I supposed to contact to verify your story?" the Imperial said with a snide show of his teeth. Kallus smirked, confidence and blatant arrogance curling around his body in retaliation.

"You may contact Colonel Wullf Yularen, of the ISB."

The lieutenant's jaw was seconds from dropping, and Kallus was mildly impressed the lieutenant had caught himself in time.

"Colonel Yularen? There's no way," the Imperial exclaimed.

"I'm an ISB agent, Lieutenant. Can you claim to know all of the Empire's covert operations?" Shaken, the lieutenant frowned at the code cylinder, and Kallus knew he was close. "Contact him. Use my cylinder as proof. I'm sure he'll tell you everything you'll need to know."

The lieutenant eyed him skeptically, fighting back against the physical evidence before him. "I'm sure."

Kallus shrugged again, unperturbed. "Don't, then. Ruin everything I've worked for months on. You'll have him to answer to. I'm sure you'll enjoy a posting on some back-world base on the edges of the Outer Rim. Once you've been demoted."

Though the Imperial's features didn't change, his face paled. As expected, that was the perfect detail to convince the lieutenant to leave. The Imperial narrowed his eyes at Kallus before he nodded to the younger officer.

"Keep an eye on them, Ensign. They so much as twitch wrong, shoot them all."

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant left with one of the stormtroopers, leaving only the ensign, and two troopers to deal with. An improvement, but he had hoped for better. His bluff wouldn't last long. Once the lieutenant ran his cylinder, it wouldn't matter what lies he concocted. The remaining Imperials needed to be thinned again, and the crew needed their weapons so they could regain the advantage. That meant AP-5 needed to _hurry up_ while Kallus continued his act.

Thankfully, with everyone's eyes still on him, no one noticed AP-5 slip quietly along the wall with surprising stealth, nearing the supply crates where the weapons were laying.

"You've done well," Kallus said to the ensign and troopers, keeping their attention. Though he was acting, this part was true. "I don't know if you've heard much about the rebels, Ensign, but this particular cell is prodigious, and well known throughout the Outer Rim."

The ensign eyed him, his training and the command from a superior officer making him reluctant to engage, but it was clear he had something to say. Kallus lifted an eyebrow encouragingly.

The ensign caved.

"This … this is a team in their Phoenix Squadron," the Imperial said with a hint of an excited smile. "The _Ghost_ crew, right?"

"Correct, Ensign," Kallus said with a humorless smirk.

"So, they really _are_ Jedi?" he asked, pointing an elbow in Kanan and Bridger's direction.

"Indeed."

By now AP-5 had made his way to the supply crates and was nearing the weapons when their luck snagged as he attempted to maneuver around the mound of stray food rations still covering the floor. The ensign's attention shifted, and that was enough to get one of the troopers to redirect his blaster. AP-5 froze.

"Droid, halt!" the ensign ordered and AP-5 faced the Imperial. Even from where he stood, Kallus could sense the snarky come-back just waiting to be voiced. Kallus discreetly narrowed his eyes over the ensign's shoulder. Seeing it, AP-5 gave a great, put-upon sigh before he addressed Kallus.

"Agent Kallus. I can hardly do my work when I have a blaster pointed at me. I believe you wanted an adequate inventory of what was collected by these rebels. A set-back like this will put me gravely behind schedule. I'd hate to be the reason your report to Colonel Yularen is delayed."

"So, it's true? You work for Colonel Yularen?" the ensign said, flicking his eyes back to Kallus as his blaster drooped. "ISB Colonel Yularen?"

"Who else?" droned AP-5, tilting his head as if to roll non-existent eyes. "That's who we report to."

"I'd ignore the droid," Kallus said soothingly, trying to get the ensign to lower his guard again. "I reprogrammed him while the rest of the crew weren't looking and installed a secondary protocol. That supply droid will begin inventorying everything that was scavenged here in the name of the Empire. It's better these supplies remain out of rebel hands."

"You kriffing liar!" Bridger crowed, his teeth bared at Kallus. "I knew it! I knew we couldn't trust you!"

The sharp shout passed through Kallus's internal defenses, even though he refused to let it show on his face. The viciousness behind Bridger's reaction. _Was_ that only acting?

But what if it was real? What if, despite everything, Bridger really believed he'd strung them along, after all this time?

"How could you, Kallus?" Hera growled, green eyes sharp as knives. "I stood up for you! We all did!"

"Don't do this, Kallus. You're better than this," Kanan said as he lifted his blind eyes. "Don't throw it all away."

Kallus stared at them, and excusing Wren … the doubt rushed in. What … what he was doing was an act. They _had_ to see that.

But maybe they didn't. Maybe everything he'd been through with them, everything he'd believed to be true, had been a lie. The bonding, the teamwork, the trust they'd said they had in him.

All lies.

Perhaps they hadn't trusted him at all. And he'd been the fool for believing them.

Much as the ache of that realization beat at him, he breathed through his nose and focused on his composure. He shouldn't be as surprised as he was. No one should trust him, after all. This was just … a reminder of that fact.

So be it.

Kallus lifted his chin, displaying nothing but the cold Imperial. "Perhaps you judged wrong, Jedi." He cast his brown eyes across them all, hiding the truth as he had with everyone, all his life. "Perhaps you all judged wrong."

"And now they'll pay for that," the ensign said. Though the lieutenant hadn't come back yet with confirmation, it appeared the hostility the rest of the crew was sending Kallus's way was enough to convince this junior officer the lie was true.

"So, may I continue with my work?" AP-5 droned. "I'll have you know that the rebellion usually sends operatives out to investigate when a team doesn't respond to a check-in. They've missed theirs, and that doesn't give me much time to do my job if we're going to leave in time."

"The rebellion's coming?" the ensign gasped, eyes wide, and Kallus rolled with AP-5's lie.

"Likely. They did miss their check-in."

"Well?" AP-5 pressed in blatant annoyance, and his and AP-5's combined efforts created enough pressure to cause the ensign to cave again.

"Alright," the ensign said, trying to hide his nervousness behind a command. "But trooper, keep an eye on it while it works."

"Smart man," Kallus praised. Now they had two to deal with directly, and he thought he could disarm the ensign easily enough. It was the final stormtrooper he worried about, and they were all running out of time before the lieutenant came back. "I'll be sure to tell Colonel Yularen about you."

"I've always thought about working in the ISB," the ensign confided. Kallus almost couldn't hide his smirk. This young officer was making it way too easy on him.

"Perhaps I'll put in a good word?" he lied. "I think you have potential."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the crew watching him, but now a particular quiet had settled on them. A familiar stillness he'd seen many times before. One of waiting. Of potential action about to spring. They had to know now, with the lies he and AP-5 had spun, and he'd caught the discreet way Wren had nudged them all. A warning.

A clang struck the floor as the entrenching tool leaning against the crate with the spilled rations toppled over with an 'accidental' nudge. AP-5 bent at the waist.

Kallus took a deep breath and hoped this next part worked like it should.

"Pardon me," AP-5 droned as he reached behind a crate as if to pick up the shovel. The stormtrooper guarding him neared, but it also put him within range of the other who was also watching the droid. "My mistake."

With ease that almost made the throw appear lazy, AP-5 tossed a stun grenade Wren had given him before they'd enacted this plan. The stormtroopers had no time to react. Electricity arched out, the area of effect encompassing both troopers, and they screamed before dropping limp to the ground.

"What?" said the ensign, his breath sharp before he regained his senses and tried to level his blaster at Kallus after realizing he'd been played.

It was too late.

AP-5 threw something at him. "Kallus!"

Instinctively, Kallus reached out and seized hold of a metal shaft and, winding up, swung and slammed the end of it against the Imperial's brow. The muted thud permeated the air, followed by a soft, pained moan.

The young officer crumpled, his blaster falling to the ground harmlessly. Kallus turned to the crew.

"Now, Sabine!"

In a flurry of color, Wren was up and out of her cuffs just as Bridger shed his. Kallus dropped the makeshift weapon AP-5 had tossed at him — the bloody entrenching tool of all things — before he reached for the ensign's blaster and yanked the restraining bolt off Chopper. The astromech chittered at the success of the plan and his subsequent freedom.

"Their lightsabers," Kallus told the squat droid, who saluted Kallus before rolling rapidly away, even as AP-5 tossed Captain Syndulla her blaster, and Bridger his. Chopper swiped up the lightsabers and shot them at the Jedi who caught them midair. With a snap-hiss, Kanan's flared to life, cutting through his binders. Then he climbed to his feet, facing Kallus.

Kallus waited for the fist which should be impacting his face right about now, but instead all he got in return was a firm hand on his shoulder, and a brilliant smile on Kanan's lips.

"Great job with the distraction, though you cut it a bit close."

Freed now, he moved past with Wren and Bridger flanking him, and Kallus watched, stunned. Another hand gripped his arm, squeezing it and catching his attention. He stared at Captain Syndulla, who gave him a nod and an approving smile.

"Get Zeb. He needs medical attention and I need to get the _Ghost_ ready while the others take care of the other Imperials. Once you get Zeb on board, do what you can to help load the _Ghost_."

"Yes, Captain," Kallus responded reflexively, struck dumb by what was going on. But with a blink, he realized now wasn't the time to be hung up on the crew's reactions. On how quickly they'd gone from hatred to acceptance, when he'd been steps away from surety that he'd lost their trust.

He'd been given orders. He needed to do them.

Kallus crouched by Zeb and helped the Lasat sit up before he wrapped Zeb's good arm around his neck and tugged him up to standing with a grunt.

"Just like old times," Zeb said with a pain-filled chuckle as he tried not to jar his arm. The Lasat must have been beaten because even though Zeb was on his feet, Kallus had to support a great deal of the Lasat's bulk. A task his weaker knee wasn't thanking him for as they made their way up the _Ghost_ _'s_ ramp. Behind them the sound of blaster fire filled the area, and Kallus chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Bolts and lightsabers colored the air, and Kallus frowned as two more stormtroopers appeared, ones he hadn't known about when he'd made his plan. But it seemed the others had that well contained and already AP-5 and Chopper were busy ferrying supplies into the hold. Once Kallus got Zeb that far, Zeb pulled away and waved him off.

"Hurry and get the rest. I'll be fine."

Resolved not to think until everything was over, Kallus lifted his blaster and ventured out again, moving for the supplies. Between him and the droids, within a minute half the cargo was on board, the _Ghost_ was alive and ready to go, and Captain Syndulla had given the order to fall back.

The others withdrew, and he provided cover fire for their retreat behind what remained of the supplies. Wren and Bridger dived for the _Ghost_ while Kanan threw himself behind another row of supplies near Kallus's position. Ahead of them only one trooper and the lieutenant remained, both shooting fiercely.

In the officer's hand was Kallus's code cylinder. Kallus smirked as he dug in his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Kanan called as he deflected bolts back. The trooper dropped to the ground. "We need to go!"

"Just wait," Kallus replied as he armed his detonator, then pressed the switch.

His code cylinder exploded in a small flash of light.

The lieutenant howled and waved his hand, but his glove caught fire and his face appeared burned from where he'd been holding the cylinder too close.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop the Imperial from firing his blaster randomly. Next to him, Kanan dived as Kallus tried to determine a path to the _Ghost_ without taking a bolt.

"Kallus, move!" Wren yelled a second later, her face pulling with panic, and Kallus saw a bolt of light flicker past his sight before it shot by. The bolt collided with a remaining fuel cell behind him. One he was uncomfortably close too.

There was sound and light. The shock of pressure and pain as he threw himself to the side to avoid most of the damage. Unfortunately, he wasn't far enough that he could avoid being thrown back. His body collided with something solid and hard, his head whipping back with a solid thwack.

Kallus's world went black, the sounds of shouting and blaster fire lulling him away into oblivion.

* * *

Pressure on his shoulders and gentle shaking motions caused consciousness to flick back on like a switch, and Kallus gasped and coughed as he bolted upright. The pressure — hands — on his shoulders stopped shaking him, and Kallus peered through bleary eyes and saw Captain Syndulla smiling at him in relief.

"Kallus? Kallus, are you alright?"

"What—!" Kallus coughed as he struggled to make sense of what was going on around him, waiting for his sluggish mind to kick back on as fast as his consciousness had. His head ached terribly, and he struggled past the haze. "What happened? Is everyone alright? How—?"

"Relax, Kallus," Bridger said with a grin. "You're back on the _Ghost_. Everyone's fine and we got away with most of the supplies we came for because of you."

"You got us out of that mess," Kanan emphasized, and Kallus realized that everyone was around, as if they'd been waiting for him to wake up. "It was a good plan, trying to convince them you were double crossing us. Good thinking."

"Though if your plan was to almost blow yourself up, your thinking needs more work," Zeb said from the chair he was sitting in. His arm was in a sling, and a bandage covered the blaster wound he'd taken there. "Still, Kanan's right. Shame that code cylinder of yours is destroyed now. Could've used that ploy again. Worked like a charm."

"Along with mine and Wren's support," AP-5 added. "It wouldn't have worked if _my_ acting skills hadn't been so convincing."

Chopper gurgled in response, clacking his clamps to emphasize the _real_ acting had been on the part of the entire team, Kallus included.

Kallus felt as if he was in some race and he was being left behind as his mind slowly came up to pace. He could only stare as he tried to understand what was going on. Move past the pain in his skull and the likely concussion there.

When he'd pretended to double-cross them, when he'd seen them react so readily to his bluff, the doubt had eaten at him and he'd fully expected the crew to treat him with caution again. With doubt and distrust because, for all they knew, he _might_ have been telling the truth. That all these months spent working together might have been a ruse, like it had been when he'd betrayed the Empire. Lies meant to deceive.

Miss Wren and AP-5, he could understand. They'd been in on the plan. But the others?

There wasn't the faintest touch of doubt in them at all. They looked at him with pride and approval. There was no judgment there. Before it all began, he'd hoped they'd known better.

Impossibly, it appeared they _had_ , and the one who'd bought the lie, the one who hadn't trusted his crew enough, was him.

"You never … you never doubted me?" Kallus breathed in disbelief as he addressed all of them. "Throughout all of that, you didn't once doubt me or my intentions?"

"Nope," Kanan said with a grin and Zeb snorted at him dismissively.

"No way," the Lasat said. "You think I can't tell when you're acting by now?"

"It's exactly what I would've done," Bridger stated proudly, and somehow that made Kallus feel slightly better. Chopper gurgled, wagging his small metal arm, and Bridger lifted an eyebrow. "What? Thought we wouldn't see right through the act? Please," Bridger rolled his eyes. "Zeb's right. You were transparent from the moment you walked in. Matter of fact, I was worried the Imps would see right through you."

Wren rolled her eyes. "That's not true. The performance was good. I couldn't have done it better."

"Again, it wouldn't have been successful without _my_ help," AP-5 pointed out again. A warm hand dropped on his shoulder and he looked at Captain Syndulla.

"We know you, Kallus," the Twi'lek said gently. "All these months working together, we've seen how hard you've struggled to prove that the rebellion is where you belong. Where you want to be. We know. There was never a doubt in our minds."

Kanan nodded. "We just needed to help sell the idea that you had betrayed us."

"What? Did you believe us too?" Bridger questioned. "Like Hera said, we know you better than that. You should trust us by now. We trust you, after all."

Kallus didn't know what to say because … he had doubted them. He'd spent months trying to prove his loyalty, given everything and hadn't expected a thing in return. Hadn't thought he could ever deserve trust, even if he had to break his back to earn it.

The fact that he was receiving that trust when he hadn't even expected it… it broke through the last bit of tension he'd held within himself since he'd first joined the rebellion and become a member of the _Ghost_ crew. The final bit of doubt and distrust he'd had in them.

Impossibly, Kanan huffed the faintest of chuckles as a smile pulled at his lips.

"Believe us now?"

"You're fools," Kallus muttered as he looked away so they couldn't see the naked relief and gratitude in his eyes. "You're all fools."

"And you're just as much a fool as the rest of us," Bridger said. "How does that feel?"

Kallus rubbed a hand over his cheeks, feeling the muscles there as they pulled a little wider, a little stronger, before he ran his hand up and through his hair. It fell to either side of his face easily, as if returning to its natural state. Taking a deep breath, Kallus looked up.

"Good," he admitted. "Surprisingly good."

Zeb laughed and Wren's smirk was amused. The hand on his shoulder squeezed again before it slid off.

"I think it's time we head back to Yavin," Captain Syndulla said. "We've got supplies to drop off, and your probation hearing is soon."

Kallus smiled, and he surprised himself by how real it was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a smile that was real and true and honest.

He found he rather liked it.

"I, for one," Kallus said as he reclined on the cot, his smile small and persistent, though he had no use for it now. "can't wait."

It wouldn't matter with the Alliance decided during the hearing. Despite the likelihood his probationary period would end and he'd be made an official member of the rebellion, even if they threw him into prison now for whatever reason, he would go knowing that there were people who would fight for him because they believed in him and trusted him.

And now, he trusted them too.

* * *

 **A/N:** What did you think? Figured I'd conclude Kallus's personal growth lessons with a practical test, and I hope you liked it! Mostly action, which is different for this fic in particular, but I think it fits in nicely.

Only one final chapter to round it all up. Before I post that (in a few weeks I think), I want to thank everyone who's read this story and supported it. To my wonderful reviewers, the biggest of thank you's go to you. Those reviews helped keep this story alive. Don't ever underestimate the power of a review, they mean so much.

Until the final chapter, then.

As always, you can follow me and my stories on my tumblr (Just search for my username. I've redesigned it. It now have update status's for my stories on the left-hand side, so you can see where the story is in the process).


	9. Something New

**A/N:** Well. Here it is. The end. I feel like I'm closing up shop on something that's been an experience to go through as a writer and entertainer. This series of one-shots all bundled up into this one story was meant to help us all get through the hiatus to season 4, but it turned into something pretty special along the way.

That being said, here's the final chapter. Let's end on a high note. It's short and sweet, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. I know I did.

* * *

 **Something New**

Pride swelled in Kallus as he studied the new rank insignia attached to his jacket. The two blue spots stared up at him boldly amidst a bed of silver. It was so … different, from his Imperial rank plaque. True, he'd been staring at the rebel ranks for months now, waiting for the day he might have one himself. There had been days when he wasn't sure he _would_ get one of his own.

But here it was.

Captain. Captain Kallus. Captain Kallus of the Rebel Alliance, newly minted Intelligence Officer.

Stars, that had a nice ring to it.

Now that the promotion ceremony had concluded, those gathered began to mingle and filter away. Most of the faces present he hadn't known –lower ranking members 'encouraged' to attend in 'support' of the promotion, vanishing almost the moment it was over – but Kallus hardly cared.

The _Ghost_ crew stood in a small cluster to the side, waiting so they could personally congratulate him on his promotion and placement within the rebellion.

"Captain Kallus," Bridger — Ezra — said with a grin, the first — as always — to speak out. "Sounds good on you."

"You've definitely earned it," Hera said kindly before she tapped the rank. "You should be proud."

"Oh, all I feel coming off him in the Force is pride," Kanan said with a teasing chuckle. "But Hera's right. You earned it. Can't think of anyone who deserves that rank more than you do. You're going to do great things."

"Does the Force tell you that?" Kallus asked, his spirits light.

"I don't need the Force to tell me anything," Kanan replied. "You convinced me all on your own."

"You convinced a lot of people," Zeb agreed. "Was a big turnout for your promotion ceremony. Sure, you have your typical forced support, but I think you've also got some people waiting to snag your attention once we're done with you."

The Lasat nodded to the side and indeed there _were_ individuals who were lingering, clearly waiting to speak with him. Kallus even knew a few of them by face, people his work as an information specialist aboard the _Ghost_ during his probation had directly helped.

"That's not surprising. He's a pretty important guy now." Sabine nudged his arm playfully. Kallus smiled at her. He felt as if all he could do was smile. His cheeks ached a little, but he appreciated the feeling and was happy to share it with the _Ghost_ crew. With his friends.

"So important that he's too good for us," Bridger — Ezra — sniffed. "Saw you already had your bags packed."

"Well I can't very well do my job to the best of my ability while on the _Ghost,_ " Kallus pointed out. "I must admit, the _Ghost_ grew on me. It's a bittersweet feeling to leave."

"Aww, we all thought you'd miss the _Ghost,_ but I know who you're _really_ going to miss," Bridg— _Ezra_ — said, grinning widely.

"I'm going to miss the piano," Kallus replied with a mournful sigh. "And everyone else who doesn't hail from Lothal."

"Don't lie, Kallus," Ezra said. " _I_ know the truth."

Hearing his name, so familiar and comfortable rolling off the young Jedi's tongue, reminded him. He'd been thinking about this for a while now, and now was as good a time as any, particularly with the whole crew present. The word rose from Kallus's throat.

"Alexsandr."

Ezra gave him a confused look as if he'd turned as purple as Zeb, while the others worked out what the name was supposed to mean. Only Hera smiled, cool pleasure in her eyes.

Zeb's brow cocked.

"Alexsandr …?"

"My name," Kallus explained, spelling it out for the Lasat, but also happy to finally do so. "I never told any of you my first name, though of course Hera knew. But after all this, I figure it's been long enough. Stop calling me Kallus. That's my last name. I have a first, and it's Alexsandr. You should use it."

"Wait a minute. Your name is Alexsandr?" Zeb asked.

"Alexsandr Kallus?" Ezra said, and now Kallus was starting to have second thoughts about his decision to share, based solely on the look the younger Jedi had in his eyes.

"I like it," Sabine told him. "Glad to finally find out what it was. For a long time, I was sure it was just 'Agent'."

"I liked to imagine you didn't have a first name." Kanan joked and Hera rolled her eyes at him, though he couldn't see it. Chopper chittered that he'd known since before Kallus became Fulcrum, from the many times the droid had sliced into Imperial records.

"And of course, _I_ knew," AP-5 droned. "I specialize in supply and organization. I'm required to know these things."

"Alexsandr," Zeb said again, as if trying the name on for fit. Kallus waited and Zeb gave a slow smirk. "I guess it'll do."

"It will have to," Kallus agreed. "It's not going to change."

"Sure it can," Ezra was quick to point out. "That's what nicknames are for."

Kallus glared. "No nicknames."

"I don't think you're much of an Alex type," the younger Jedi reasoned, ignoring Kallus. "Maybe … Sandr? Al?" The boy's grin turned annoying. "Sandy?"

Kallus's brow twitched.

" _Alexsandr_ is perfectly fine," Kallus told Ezra — no — _Bridger_. In truth, he despised nicknames, having gone through every one of them in his youth — including the dreaded 'Sandy' — but he knew better than to tell the boy that.

"Well, I'm happy to finally use it," Hera said as she extended her hand to him. "Welcome to the Rebel Alliance, Alexsandr. I'm glad you're one of us."

"And I'm glad to be, Hera," he told her, showing her all his gratitude for everything she'd done for him. She'd been his biggest champion, and earning her respect was an achievement he was deeply proud of. He looked at all of them. "I couldn't have done this without all of you."

"No problem Alexsandr," Kanan said, the Jedi squeezing Kallus's shoulder with his hand. "That's what we do. That's what you do now too."

Kallus's features softened. "True enough."

A comlink chimed somewhere amidst them, and Hera was the one to answer. After a moment, she looked up and gave Kallus an apologetic smile.

"Looks like we need to get going. A new mission just came up, and they need the _Ghost_ in the air five minutes ago."

Kallus straightened. Much as he wanted to hurry off on another adventure with them, that time had passed. For now, he had other duties. Another post. Another place.

Still, he smiled at them.

"I understand. You should get going. You've a galaxy to save." He glanced down at his new rank before adding, "And so do I."

A variety of grins and smirks met his, before the _Ghost_ crew turned with a wave and hurried off, leaving him behind.

Kallus watched as the Specters left, his chest warm. He _was_ sad he was only an honorary specter, now that he was reassigned more appropriately within the rebellion. Though he'd had his reservations in the beginning, he'd grown to appreciate – and even enjoy – his time with the rebels who'd driven him mad over the last couple years. It was thanks to them that he'd chased them. It was thanks to them that he'd been challenged, and he'd challenged himself and what he'd known. It was thanks to them that he'd rebelled.

And it was thanks to them that, it seemed, he'd finally found his place. And though he was under no illusions it would be perfect or easy, or that miraculously everyone would be able to look past his history as an Imperial, at least there _were_ people he could count on, now. People he could trust.

That, chipped and jagged as he was, no matter what he'd once been, he'd made something new of himself. Something, for once, he was truly proud of. Something that could _help_ and make a difference.

Lifting his head, his rebellious hair tickled his cheeks and Kallus couldn't quite remember why he'd ever tried to tame it in the first place. It was a part of him now. This new him.

He was Captain Alexsandr Kallus of the Rebel Alliance.

And like the _Ghost_ crew, it was time to get to work.

* * *

 **A/N:** *Sniffles* It's over folks. Chipped and Jagged's done, and I hope you loved reading this story as much as I loved writing it. There's so much I want to say about this story, but right now I can't get my thoughts together enough to say them. I'll probably post something about it on tumblr at some point (along with maybe some bloopers I've written, but never published or filled out because it would have taken away from the overall feel of CJ I was aiming for). But for now? The end.

Now that Chipped and Jagged's complete, I'd love to know what you thought of it! Of this chapter, of the story as a whole, of your favorite parts and any that made you giddy or teary-eyed. I'll always want to know what you thought, even ten years from now so please, never be worried or shy about reviewing. Chances are you'll make my day :]

I'm not very good about promoting myself, but I'm going to do it now. If you'd like to go an extra mile and blow my mind and make me cry in a puddle of gratitude, I have a ko-fi account. For those of you who aren't sure what that is, it's a site where you can tip/donate to creators and 'buy them coffees'. If you liked my story and would like to show a little extra support, you can find a link to my ko-fi account on my tumblr (just search for my username).

Anyway, thank you all again for reading! It was a journey, but I'm glad to have shared it with you all. Until next time!


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